The Prince's Tale
by crockywock
Summary: If you were as crushed as I was by what happened to Snape in Deathly Hallows, this is something to make that feeling go away. Severus/Minerva implied and intended for future use.
1. The Remains of the Prince

**The Remains of the Prince**

When the wind stopped, there was only silence.

Only the occasional hustle from downstairs indicating rodent inhabitants and the creaking of floorboards demystified the motionless, dusty gloom through which a single robed figure stepped into the dimly lit main room of the silent shack. Broken sunbeams shed some light on every dust particle in the room – over the carpet and the rampaged grandfather's chair, as well as the shabby grand piano in the corner, bleached by both, old age and dust – and made a recognition of changes within the familiar dwelling temporarily impossible.

The figure stepped forward slowly, distrusting, as though taking the former presence of great evil in this room as a reason to falter and consider each of her steps again and again. She was prodding some of the shabby pieces of furniture with her wand, tentatively, as though tempted to blast them away but not daring to.

"Where are you…" she muttered, her voice raw and damaged as after several hours' continuous crying. "He said… it must have been here…"

Another few steps took the woman, elderly in appearance but not yet old, towards the back of the room, where an overturned dinner table separated a corner from the rest of the room as though a living being had dwelled there, a long time ago, before the end of the war.

The woman's gaze glided over a few particularly nasty slashes in the grey armchair beside the barred window and then along the carpet where, with a muffled squeak of horror and pain, she discovered a pair of black wizarding boots covering the lifeless feet of a body attached to them.

The body, belonging to a man, was lying sprawled on the floor, slightly twisted, his black eyes staring emptily at the room's wrecked ceiling. Black and expressionless, as they had always been, but indicating, only just, that the last thing they had taken in had been of supreme beauty.

Severus Snape had died happy.

The woman sank to her knees and exhaled a small sound of despair.

"Severus!" she managed, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "Severus, I'm sorry! I am _so_ sorry! If I had only known – if you had only let me know…"

Tears began to drop from her cheeks into her lap and a shaking, parchment-like hand glid over the motionless man's face, his chest, and eventually his arms.

"I spoke to Albus's portrait," the woman sobbed. "Straight away when I realised what Potter had achieved. To learn whether he would come back, you see…"

Her mouth formed a few more words, but her voice failed. Eventually, the woman was forced to content herself with stroking her colleague's pale hand, sobbing soundlessly, her mouth now merely forming the syllables of his name.

She took the greasy-haired head into both hands, pressing her face against what had once been a warm and comforting cheek… it still had not entirely cooled down… or had rigor mortis already passed? Impossible. Two hours since Potter's sudden and surprising revelation that Severus had, in fact, been the man she had always taken him for. Two hours since the news had reached Hogwarts's new headmistress's ear that Severus Snape had, in fact, been working for Dumbledore and, towards the end, his portrait all along.

Minerva pressed a hand against the younger man's chin, trying to move his jaw. It was perfectly flexible. She frowned. Her hand wandered along the pale face, found his eyes, and closed them easily. And yet, the eyelids were the first to yield to rigor mortis, sometimes only an hour after a person's death. There were spells, which prevented this, but people did not usually go through the trouble of casting them during a war. Fascinated, Hogwarts's temporary headmistress allowed her hands to wander over the pallid skin a little further down, having to replace her grip, a little firmer, under Snape's head.

Her little finger started tingling and Minerva blinked, again, in surprise. Ongoing magic in this room? Impossible. The enemy had left it long ago, as had Severus's life and soul through the most evil of all curses… And with the Dark Lord finished, who was there to maintain any magic cast on or around Severus's body?

Minerva peered alongside her arm at the part of the younger man's back just below her fingers, where blood began to ooze when she renewed her grip yet again. Aghast, horror-stricken, she tried to push him into a sitting position, her brain running wild with confusion. A wound? But the curse left no wounds. Left no sign at all of what had happened to the victim. And yet, here were several deep gashes, large enough to make anyone bleed to death within minutes, which had been clumsily healed by what seemed random bits of magic by either a very incompetent healer or, Minerva suddenly thought with an indescribable jolt of hopeful fear in her stomach, Severus himself, desperate to do _something_ to make the blood flow stop.

The headmistress looked at her colleague's pale face once more, suddenly realising that, if the magic continuing to tingle around Severus's wounds was, in fact, his own, he could for all his current appearance be not as dead as it had initially seemed. Just for a second, her heart seemed to skip a beat at the shock and the sudden massiveness of thoughts racing through her thoroughly befuddled mind.

Then, everything happened very quickly. Minerva was not someone who hesitated in the face of imminent danger, of course. A Gryffindor tended to leap into action, whether such action was for the best or not. Severus needed help, regardless of how far he was already gone. If there was even the tiniest trace of a chance that it was blood loss the Dark Lord had intended for his least faithful servant, rather than the easy way of the Avada Kedavra curse… well, then she, Minerva, had to take it!

With sudden firmness, the shaking witch gripped her lifeless colleague's body, clasping his chest as though to keep him from drowning. She did not know how much time there was, but that there _was_ time, perhaps enough to regain what the war had threatened to take, the headmistress refused to doubt. Snape's wounds were already leaking again when she took out her wand with difficulty and placed it squarely upon the younger man's chest, ready to disapparate.


	2. Livius Toke

**Livius Toke**

A gush of cold wind, the familiar darkness, and Minerva reappeared in the huge, brightly lit Emergency Apparition Area of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Only a single healer stood beside a row of stretchers, which had been set up to allow the patients to gain a comfortable and easy to manoeuvre position as quickly as possible. Against all odds, he looked fairly surprised that there should be a visitor at this time of the night. Minerva recognised the blank look out of a pair of light, grey eyes at an instant.

"Toke!" she hissed. "Livius Toke, is it? Help me with this!"

The young man, barely older than her seventh-years, jumped up immediately and together they heaved Severus Snape's lifeless figure on one of the stretchers. Minerva whipped a tartan handkerchief from her pocket, wiping the sweat from her forehead while continuing to issue commands.

"Good! That'll do for now. Take this! Hold him – no! Not like that! He is bleeding, you fool! You a trained healer yet? It doesn't matter. You'll do. Stay with him and keep him from bleeding further at all costs! I'll get the emergency department…"

"They're all out," said Livius unhappily. His voice was high like that of a fourth-year girl and had a softness to it, which displayed a general contentment with life, regardless current circumstances. "Apparated to Hogwarts to celebrate the… er… the second downfall of You-Know-Who…"

"Yes, I do indeed know who," interrupted Minerva. "And I also know who is going to pay if I cannot find someone fit to deal with these injuries immediately. Have you seen Healer McGonagall today?"

"N-no, I'm afraid…" began the boy, but Minerva waved him off with an exasperated gesture. It was always the same. The wizarding community was alarmingly disorganised. As soon as there was a Dark Lord their entire administrative body crumbled to dust at the attempts of getting rid of him and whenever there was something to celebrate, all important wizarding institutions were suddenly void of personnel.

She jumped when a sudden crack interrupted her attempts of gathering her thoughts enough to decide where best to apparate to. A group of witches and wizards in lime-green robes appeared just behind her, two of them looking focussed, the third annoyed.

"An emergency?" asked a small witch sharply, looking around. Her face lit upon discovering her former head of house. "Professor McGonagall? What…"

"Thank Merlin," gasped Minerva, relief gushing through her like a wave of warm, saponaceous water upon discovering who would be taking charge. "Quick, over here!"

She moved aside towards Severus again, grabbing his hand as she spoke. The three healers approached the black-haired wizard's lifeless figure in a hurry. A tall wizard with a grey goatee grabbed the stretcher firmly while both witches turned to examine the former Potions Master's pale figure. Dislike and even a trace of revulsion spread over the young one's face, very visibly against her will.

"I know, I _know_ he is not the most likable of teachers…" Minerva began, fear returning like a magical fire igniting both, incredible despair and a horrible, burning anger at the same time. "It is your _duty_…!"

"Don't worry, Professor," said one of the older of the two witches quickly, who had begun to examine the wounds on Snape's back, ridding him of his black robes with a flick of her wand, "please. This is something we can deal with. The wounds are immense, but he did a pretty good job sealing them, too, considering that he must have been in the middle of bleeding to death while he did it. I assume this is his own work – or did he have a very incapable, blind helper?"

"No," breathed the headmistress, trying to force herself to calm down. "No helper. At… at least I don't think so. I don't know exactly what happened."

The wizard who had gripped the stretcher made a quick movement with his wand and the three healers disapparated with a loud crack, dragging the stretcher with them. Minerva, aware that all she could do now was to wait and hope, was left with only Livius Toke to comfort her.

He threw a pitying look at the elderly witch, who eventually sank onto one of the other stretchers, putting a shaking hand onto her chest to feel it heave up and down quickly, her heart still hammering in slowly receding panic.

"I shouldn't worry, if I were you," Toke began hesitantly, clearly feeling that someone needed to say something. "Healer Moody, she…"

"…doesn't make false promises," mumbled Minerva, who had taken her face in both hands and was rubbing it as though trying to make all fearful thoughts disappear that had been building up inside her during the last fifteen minutes. "And she is extremely capable, albeit her very apparent dislike for my colleague. I taught her for seven years, Toke. She was one of the best students in her year."

"Oh…" said the young man nervously, "yeah, I… of course you'll know her. I'm sorry…"

"Don't apologise, Toke," said the older witch quietly. "I appreciate your efforts of providing comfort. Tell me, how has life been for you since you left Hogwarts?"

"Well, I got accepted here," replied Toke insecurely, seeming surprised. "I… uhm… well, my Potions NEWT was quite good so Professor Snape wrote me a reference for a healer's carreer. Healer Smethwyk has been really nice, and…"

"Is Smethwyk here today?" Minerva enquired, suddenly remembering that the old healer had some hands-on experience with snake bites.

"No, I expect he is celebrating with the others," replied Toke, shaking his head sadly. "Or else sleeping. We've had an extremely busy week. And then, a couple of hours ago, Hogwarts gave a call that they needed medical assistance – but you'll know that."

"I gave the call," said Minerva, rubbing her eyes again. "That was half way through the battle."

"How did it end?" Toke enquired, his voice assuming the awe youth still tends to display when talking about final battles. "Did… you know… did Harry Potter really vanquish He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…"

No member of a family like Toke's used the term "Dark Lord" if they were not directly involved with the Death Eaters. It marked him out as one of few Slytherins who remained unimpressed by the non-societal power of torture and death, Minerva thought. In a way, Toke was much like Severus at that age, who had used to play around with made-up terms in replacement for his master's name, only to avoid the very awkward circumscriptions that were now, of course, generally accepted. Only later had he assumed the generic "Dark Lord", presumably unaware (as they all were) of how theatrical this sounded to the older generation of purebloods.

"Harry Potter saw to it that You-Know-Who will never return," said Minerva darkly, by means of a reply. "Yes, I believe he finished his given assignment quite thoroughly for once, if not what we would call in time. There have been many deaths. And there is always a next war, of course."

"You do not believe it is over yet?" the boy enquired excitedly, now fully returning to his role as a student. "You think he'll return?"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was not the root of all evil," Minerva said flatly. Seriously, boy. Have you ever paid any attention to anything Professor Binns speaks about in his lessons? – At least I hope he does. – There is _always _a 'Dark Lord' and there will _always _be those who fight him. We have had to endure two of them within this last century. Let's hope the next one takes his time."

There was a small silence, in which Toke shifted uncomfortably.

"Professor," he eventually said, "was Professor Snape… I mean… one hears things…"

"He is not a Death Eater," replied the headmistress crisply, not inclined to give the boy a twisted, incomplete version of what was happening and had happened outside St. Mungo's during the last several hours. "He has been working against You-Know-Who for the last fourteen years."

"Sounds very convenient," remarked the boy. "How do you know?"

How she knew this? Minerva closed her eyes for a moment. The memory of Harry Potter slamming the truth of Severus's alliance into the Dark Lord's face… the horrible, inconceivable truth that in spite of his efforts, in spite of 'all being well' in the public's eye, Severus had fallen in battle… her attempts, afterwards, to speak to the boy, to ask him where her colleague's body was to be found – in vain, due to him being swept away by friends and admirers… her brief discussion with Dumbledore-the-portrait, who seemed so horribly like the real Dumbledore enclosed in a portrait, for all his medding in political affairs – but perhaps this was simply his most prominent character trait enclosed in a painting… and the headmaster's spot-on assumption of where Severus had last gone…

"Are you questioning my sources?" she said eventually, opening her eyes again to throw a stern look into Toke's innocently wide-eyed face. "I have known for years, quite naturally, all the way through You-Know-Who's renewed uprise, in fact. And so has Professor Dumbledore. Harry Potter then confirmed this by letting on that Professor Snape has played a crucial part our final triumph. There is no doubt that Professor Snape was Dumbledore's man to the very end."

"I wasn't… I didn't mean to sound as though…" began Toke, but then faltered. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Professor Snape saw to it that I got a place at the nurses' training centre here. I'll be able to pursue my chosen carreer because of him. Of course I wasn't going to suggest…"

Another crack came from the other end of the room, interrupting the conversation, and two of the three healers reappeared (the older witch and the grey-bearded wizard), marching towards the two of them with extremely serious expressions on their faces.


	3. Medical Musings

**Medical Musings**

"Will you please follow us, madame," said the wizard, his head lowered a little to look Minerva in the eye, "we ought to talk in my office." He outstretched a hand. "For a proper talk," he then added. "My name is Courtus Lestrange. I am the new Deputy Head of the Department for Creature-Induced Injuries. Never attended Hogwarts, but I have heard quite a lot about you, of course."

"Professor Minerva McGonagall, pleased to meet you," Minerva managed, taking in the entirely unfamiliar, lined face. Then, with a sudden, desperate notion, her grip tightened around his hand. "How is he?"

"He will live," said the healer curtly. "But please… lets proceed to a more suitable place."

Minerva nodded and all three of them strode towards the double doors leading into the nearest corridor, leaving a dissatisfied Toke in his position as the emergency watchman.

A short way down the corridor, the wizard called Lestrange halted in front of a light, wooden, somehow sterile-looking door, which featured a small bronze sign stating his name and rank, as well as a drawing, made by a child, of some vaguely human-shaped being who was holding a wand in a single-line-arm. Minerva merely glanced at it, interested, though not particularly curious about the healer's private life.

The inside of the small, rectangular office had a somewhat homely feeling, despite more sterility. Its walls were, again, plastered with pictures drawn by small children and also photographs of what looked like man's family. There was a fair-haired man (his brother?) of about thirty or forty years holding two boys, who, Minerva suspected, might be the artists in question.

Lestrange followed her gaze and smiled. He seemed to sense that she had calmed down immensely at his reassurance and Minerva decided to keep the general tone of the conversation straightforward and rational from now on, as befitting her position as the headmistress of Hogwarts.

"Your nephews?" she enquired formally, pointing at one of the larger photographs.

"My sons, actually," he replied, conjuring a tray with three cups and a steaming pot of what Minerva assumed was tea. He offered both witches a seat and then marched up and down the room a few times, seemingly unaware that he was renewing his guest's uneasiness. There was a small, uncomfortable silence before Minerva finally spoke.

"He will live," she said in a voice of forced calm, longing to hear what other news the healers held for her in terms of Severus's well-being, "will he?"

"Live, yes," replied the man gravely. "But his condition is nevertheless extremely worrying. It seems he used a potion attempting to stop the blood flow – unsuccessfully, of course, under the circumstances. We are not sure how he is going to live what with his own attempts having affected his own magic quite thoroughly… "

"But you just said," Minerva interrupted impatiently, despite all her initial intentions. "that you _do_ know he will live. Are you or are you not sure of what is happening to him?"

"Oh, we are fairly sure that he will survive," replied the witch sternly, who had taken a seat beside Minerva, and was already sipping some tea. "But, as I say, we are not entirely certain as to _how_ he will live. Magical damage is often more dangerous than mere injuries. It is clear that he would have died, had he not so crudely closed the wounds before he fell into coma, but as it is, we are now dealing not with mere blood loss, but with a complex form of a disordered theurgic system. I do not know if you are aware of what kind of potion your friend used that allowed him to survive for hours before he came here?"

Minerva shook her head, unable, for now, to even look at the teacup in front of her.

"He… his name is Snape, is it?" Lestrange interrupted himself.

"Yes," said Minerva quickly. "Severus Snape. He is a colleague of mine."

Lestrange, a flicker of averse recognition appearing on his bearded face, nodded and continued.

"Well, we don't know how he came by it, but your friend Snape was carrying a very rare substance in his pockets. A recent invention by one of my colleagues, in fact, Hippocrates Smethwyk. The substance is specifically designed to close wounds caused by a specific breed of snake – a reptile of extraordinary size, it seems, which is unique on the British Isles…"

"You-Know-Who's…" Minerva breathed.

"So I understand," said Lestrange mildly.

"Do you happen to know," said the woman now, who overall seemed to prefer to remain silent, "how your friend came by such a valuable and, until recently, unknown mixture?"

"He will have supplied himself with it as soon a he knew it existed," Minerva began. "He has always been very careful to protect himself. An excellent Defence Against the Dark Arts student at his time, I was told. And what with his job – he will have witnessed people die from that snake. Perhaps even devoured…" She broke off, not entirely aware of how much she could safely let on so shortly after the final battle. The situation had been like this for several hours now – uncomfortably insecure. Dumbledore's portrait, obviously content with the turn of events, had settled quietly in his painted chair, apparently willing to allow matters to proceed now without his interference. The only person who held the strings together now, the only one who actually knew how to proceed from here, Dumbledore had told her with an amused twinkle in his painted eyes, had gone to bed in Gryffindor Tower for a good night's sleep.

"He used to be our Potions Master," she finally decided to say, not without effort. "Licensed up to the umpteenth level. For all I know, he could have brewed it himself."

"Impossible!" Lestrange cut in. "The recipe was not out for public use. It is a highly dangerous…"

"The hospital was subjected to Ministry searches, however, was it not?" Minerva enquired guessingly, unable to figure out exactly how Severus had come by the very potion that saved his life. "There will have been leaks."

"Yes, the new Ministry has… its own ways of dealing with data protection," Lestrange nodded.

There was a small but meaningful break. None of the room's three occupants looked each other in the eye, but all, Minerva knew, thought the same. What a shameful stage it was that the wizarding community had reached during the peak of this war…

"Please tell me more about Severus's injury," Minerva said eventually, her voice a little hoarse of emotional strain now. "I would like to know as much as I can."

"Of course," Lestrange replied promptly, walking towards a small screen, on which he made odd circular movements with his wand before a set of funnily coloured pictures appeared. He studied them for a while and then nodded.

"Moody is at her best, I see. She is still at it, as you can see here," he pointed. "These are quite recent shots. I should not worry about your friend's condition, professor. He is very lucky to be treated by one of our best."

"Healer Smethwyk is the expert on snake bites around here, though, is he not?" Minerva enquired.

Both healers confirmed this.

"It looks as though your friend is already going to suffer fewer side-effects of the potion or the bite than any of us dared hope," Lestrange informed the headmistress. "The 'poison' this particular kind of snake produces does, in fact, consist of nothing more than a few proteins, which keep human blood from congealing. Nothing life-threatening."

"Nothing life- but what use would such a kind of poison be to a snake?" Minerva replied, startled at these news.

"Well, we are not completely sure," said the witch healer now. She was bag-eyed and quite lively in appearance. Her greying hair was tied in two buns on each side of her head, and she smiled continuously as she spoke. "Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Priscilla Pye – my nephew was healer-in-training during the time when we were nursing our first case of this particular injury."

"Arthur Weasley," guessed Minerva bluntly.

Both healers exchanged a brief look, which Minerva took, not without satisfaction, to signify dawning comprehension at how much she actually knew of this matter.

"Indeed," said Lestrange darkly. "And at the time, we thought we were fighting a much more complicated substance. It turns out, however, that we were not. As I already mentioned, Smethwyk was able to come up with a solution rather quickly once we realised we were dealing with a snake that lets its victims bleed to death before devouring them."

"Not a usual breed?" Minerva enquired.

"Some sort of python, surely," the healer replied, but with a 'venom' that enables it to kill its victims quite effectively with one bite. Usually, snakes of this size kill their victims via constriction. Our theory is that this one takes a bite first, then winds itself round the body, and eventually squeezes the blood out until its prey loses consciousness. Though this one will have been interrupted, as it obviously did not stay to feast."

"Lucky he happened to have an antidote on him," Minerva mumbled, ignoring the unspoken question of who could have the power of distracting a snake this size from its chosen meal.

"Yes, indeed," replied Lestrange tensely after a short while, "a curious coincidence. The snake was… under someone's influence then? The… his… You-Know-Who's influence, perhaps?"

"It was," Minerva replied darkly. "I never knew… why, he was certainly well prepared…"

"And he got the recipe from the Ministry?"

"I assume he did."

The three exchanged another look that left many things unsaid. Minerva considered for a moment, if rolling out her colleague's entire motivation and background for supporting the Death Eaters was worth her time and patience at this precise moment, but then decided against it. She was well aware that Lestrange had recognised Severus for who he was, or who everyone had thought he was. Since his admittance of the Carrows into the school, Severus had ceased to be an unknown man. But this was not the time, nor the place… the Daily Prophet would see to the spreading of the news Potter had told them such a short while ago. AND they would be able to present evidence, which she, Minerva, did not have at her disposal at the present time.

"Do I understand quite correctly," she said instead, taking her cup of tea at last to take one or two sips, "that it is not the snake's venom then that your colleague is fighting in there, but the potion Severus used?"

"Correct," replied Healer Pye, glancing at her colleague's screen. "The problem now is that your friend used so much of the potion, probably seeking to counteract the snake's poison as quickly as possible, that it seems to have destroyed some of his theurgic system on the way."

"The theory is such," Lestrange went on explaining, "that a person whose natural theurgic defence is seriously tampered with… for example by a high-levelled potion such as the one my colleague and friend Smethwyk invented… that such a person will have difficulty living under normal wizarding conditions afterwards. Their personal magic, theory says, will be so unstable that any kind of everyday magic – you know, household spells, flying broomsticks, architecture maintenance spells, and so on – well… any of these are going to be potentially dangerous for such a person. And this is what Moody is trying to counteract at the moment. If I know here, she will be attempting to seal in the effects of the potion somehow…"

"Of course, we are not yet sure as to the degree of the damage," Healer Pye added. "If Snape is indeed a skilled Potions Master, he will have been aware of the danger and might have thinned the potion down before using it, in which case he might actually return to teaching once Moody is through with him. The more potion he used, though… and judging from our first impression, he spread it quite randomly everywhere over his back… well, let's say I suggested to Moody to go easy on pain-killing spells and potions just in case those are already strong enough to lead to a breakdown of his entire theurgic system."

"What exactly is this 'theurgic system', if you don't mind me asking?" Minerva enquired, now unable to follow the conversation without this particular piece of information.

"A kind of personal defence every witch and wizard has," Healer Pye replied patiently. "It works a little like a magical immune system. You know how a Muggle can suffer on a bodily level in terms of injuries and illnesses?"

Minerva nodded, slowly. She did not have all too much experience with Muggles, but had assumed as much.

"Well, wizards and witches can suffer on two different levels," the witch continued to explain. "Most ailments a Muggle will complain of we can counteract with potions and spells, but there is a second level on which only our kind can be harmed, which affects a person's own magic. Sometimes fatally."

"You mean such an illness could turn a witch or wizard into a squib?"

"In the broadest of senses," Lestrange said vaguely. "Though this is amateur speech, of course."

"Well, I am an amateur," Minerva replied crisply. "So please explain to me, in dummy terms, exactly what is happening to Severus's 'theurgic system'. And what the effects will be."

"We do not know for sure," said Lestrange darkly, "as I have been trying to explain. But if the potion has indeed caused grave damage, I can tell you that your friend might have to spend some time away from places where magic flows freely, such as Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Godric's Hollow, Camden… any place that features a high wizarding population, really. Some time meaning months or even years. Depending on the greatness of the damage, however, I must say that this could also mean… forever."


	4. Return to Hogwarts

**Return to Hogwarts**

Minerva took a while to comprehend these news. She took a long while, even, to digest the entire content of the conversation, but thanked the two healers eventually, announcing that she required some time to freshen up. Lestrange and Pye nodded, the latter pointing Minerva to the bathrooms at the end of a long corridor that was lit by a number of crystal bulbs, which were hanging directly under the ceiling quite unceremoniously.

"First things first," Minerva thought with a yawn while wiping her hands in the hospital's sterile, white towels. "Hogwarts will need to know where I am. And that Severus is still alive."

She pondered for a moment, whether to call a staff meeting early the next morning, but then realised that she had neither the strength nor an interest in staying awake a further twelve or fourteen hours. Well, then, afternoon it had to be.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" she said to the tiled wall of the hospital's restroom facilities, and a silvery cat emerged from the tip of her outstretched wand. "Three o'clock sharp," she called after the Patronus, unnecessarily, as it sped towards the hospital's two-wing doors, "and don't forget to tell her that Severus is alive."

The Patronus vanished. Minerva, on the other hand, driven by a sudden decision, returned to Lestrange's office and knocked politely, hoping that he had not proceeded to any of the hospital's various wards yet.

"Who is it?"

"Are you available for a moment?" Minerva enquired, loudly, in order to make sure her voice would penetrate the door. Seconds later, Lestrange opened it and leaned in the door frame, looking politely interested.

"I do."

"I beg to excuse the renewed interruption," Minerva said, "but I would like to know what is going to happen within the next twenty-four hours in order to plan ahead."

"Naturally," replied the healer indulgently. "You look rather tired, if I might say so."

"I was actually thinking of returning to Hogwarts for a few hours' sleep," Minerva said quietly. "There does not seem to be much I can do here."

"Indeed," agreed the healer. "And the healing process takes its time, of course, after whilch your friend will need a lot of rest, above everything. Would you like us to send you an owl once we know a little more of what is going to happen? I doubt that he will wake up before tomorrow night, but we could inform you as soon as there are news on his condition or if he does wake up before his time…"

"I would be grateful," Minerva replied tiredly. "He…"

But at this moment, the door was pushed open and the young witch stormed in, whom Minerva recognised as Healer Moody. She looked extremely tired and her hair was dangling in her face in unbecoming strands.

"Lestrange!" she said, and then, "oh…"

"Severus," Minerva said without thinking, "is there something wrong?"

"He is awake," Moody said. "Lestrange, I need to make a call."

"Feel free," her colleague replied, indicating his fireplace. "Are you going to inform Smethwyk?"

The young witch nodded.

"I thought you might have to," Lestrange replied, "so I sent him a brief note saying that he might be needed. He is at home now, catching up on some sleep. I am told he went to the celebrations, but Hogwarts is still busy tending to the fifty-odd deaths. So… I daresay he will come if you need him."

"I really just need a bit of info," the healer replied aversely. "I can deal with this on my own but he might have a few tips, seeing as he's been through this before."

"Is it safe to see Severus?" Minerva asked quickly, playing with her sleeves without noticing it.

"What you mean right now?" Healer Moody said confused, turning towards Minerva for the first time. "I don't know – are you a relative?"

Minerva shook her head.

"In that case, I'd prefer for you to wait until he is a little more stable," said the healer firmly, turning towards the fireplace, taking some floo powder on the mantelpiece on top, and then, with a WHOOSH, disappearing in the crackling flames. Minerva's shoulders sagged.

"I should go and get some sleep then," she said quietly, turned to Lestrange, noticing that her voice had assumed an unusual fragility. "You will… you will let me know when I can see him?"

"Rest assured," said Lestrange, his grey beard twitching slightly. "Don't worry about your friend, Professor – McGonagall, was it?"

Minerva nodded.

The following hours passed quicker than she perceived them. Minerva walked back towards the hospital's apparition area as though through a veil of clammy fog, what with the news of Severus's well-being and the battle being won, won, won! at last, and the sudden, nevertheless hollow realisation that now there was really nothing to do but wait and see.

When she arrived at the Three Broomsticks, she noticed that the morning was indeed damp and unpleasant, despite the state in which the wizarding world currently was. Madame Rosmerta fluttered around outside her pub, positioning a few chairs and tables with occasional flicks of her wand, and was trying to pull a silvery-white canopy across the sitting area outside, her hair uncempt and occasionally dishevelled by the night's last remaining winds.

Minerva approached the younger witch and shook her hand.

"Business as usual, I see?"

"Can't miss the chance of half the wizarding world travelling up to Hogwarts," her friend replied, "to visit You-Know-Who's conquerors, obviously – well, and to have a good sneer at his body, I suppose."

"They put it out for display?" Minerva said quickly, not quite believing what she had heard. She wiped a few strands of her own hair out of her forehead and discovered that it was high time for a bath.

"Not officially," replied the waitress serenely. "But you can't keep people from coming, can you?"

"We'll see about that," muttered the headmistress. "Would you mind me using your fire, Rosmerta? I do not feel I am up to the lengthy walk all the way to the castle at the moment."

"Feel free," Rosmerta replied. "But it isn't lit yet. Take some of the logs from the shed, if you want. The more fire you make now, the less I'll have to deal with in a moment."

"Not a problem. Thank you very much indeed," Minerva said and vanished.

A few minutes later, she was standing in her old office within Hogwarts walls. She had intended to head for the headmistress's office straight away, but through tiredness perhaps, or old habit, had missed the exit and entered a very surprised-looking Slughorn's working habitat seconds later.

"Minerva!"

The headmistress stepped out of the fire, threw a critical look down along herself and flicked her wand at her dusty robes quickly before looking up.

"Good morning, Horace," she said. "The early bird catches the worm?"

The mighty moustache pulled into a broad smile. "Why, quite naturally," said the sizeable man importantly. "Been up for almost an hour already. Although I must admit that I went to sleep rather earlier than most of the students. The seventh years took over the organisation of post-battle cleaning. Very diligent, the lot of them, particularly some of the Slytherins." He smiled smugly, obviously proud that at least part of his house had stayed, if not many. "Some parents stayed as well," he then continued, eager to get as much information across as possible, "to clean – and do some provisional repair work. Everyone seems quite keen for Hogwarts to return to its usual state. All the bodies have been transferred to a more suitable place by the remaining members of the Order and selected people from the Ministry – Thicknesse seems to have recovered from the Imperius Curse, but we locked him away for now, just to be sure. There seems to be quite a lot of reorientation happening everywhere. Lots of people are missing, some were clearly cursed and are now recovering from having done You-Know-Who's bidding for so long – you'll have to give it to the Death Eaters, the number of people they had under their command was vast. But the amount of volunteers seems exceptionally small. I personally think that…"

"I am sorry, Horace," interrupted Minerva tiredly, "but could you give me a brief, very to-the-point recount of what happened after I left so that I can catch a few hours of sleep before the staff meeting?"

Her colleague looked a little taken aback, but then nodded, trying to look placid.

"Of course. Well, most staff members seem to be alive and well, even if Pomona is still suffering from the effects of a stray stinging hex and Firenze is still struggling with his flank. Sybil is missing – I do hope she fled after she used up all her crystal balls. We are expecting a list of deaths some time this afternoon. Possibly even before the meeting. Let's see, what else… young Shacklebolt said that he would like a word with you some time this week. Concerning organisational matters, I am sure."

Minerva rubbed her temples. "I see."

"We have quite a few interesting prisoners, too," continued the temporary deputy headmaster, now assuming his usual light-hearted voice. "The Carrows are presently tied up in the dungeons, as are a few others whom we considered particularly dangerous, because Azkaban seems to be undergoing a serious form of restructuring at the moment. We would not want to run the risk of…"

"Thank you, Horace," said Minerva quickly. "Very much, in fact. I forgot about the Carrows – did Filius find them?"

Slughorn confirmed.

"I might pay them a visit later today," mumbled his superior, "but for now… I thank you for your recount. Let me know if anything out of the order happens, will you?"

"Why, of course, headmistress," prompted the man in good, old-fashioned Slytherin loyalty. "As you wish."

Minerva nodded and left the office in a swifter walk than seemed possible in her current state. It was good to get away from the ever pompous, ever talking Slughorn, but she also realised that, by now, her feet were aching and her back was giving her serious trouble, something that only ever happened when stayed awake for more than twenty hours in a row.

"A good night's rest," she said to a black and white kitten on a portrait near her office on the right hand side of the first floor main corridor, which meowed quietly and slid aside, revealing the opening to Minerva's private quarters. Thankfully, the headmistress slipped inside, passing the small work area in the living room, walking straight towards a rather broad four-poster bed with tartan curtains.

Finally, finally some rest.


	5. Topaz

**Topaz**

When Minerva entered St. Mungo's the next time, it was back to its usual state of business. The main reception area was packed with people complaining of all sorts of ailments once again and everywhere she looked, Minerva could see lime-green-robed healers hustle about, getting their job done as quickly and efficiently as possible under the circumstances.

To Minerva's left, behind the Enquiries desk sat a plump blonde witch who had an unsightly piercing through her eyebrow. A short queue was waiting to be served, but before Minerva could even approach it, a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, turning her around in a swift, imperative movement.

"Minerva! What a tremendous pleasure!"

The headmistress of Hogwarts lifted her eyes slightly. Almost six inches above her eyeline an unpleasantly familiar gaze full of ebullient excitement, met her own.

"Topaz. What are you doing here?"

The man gave her a charming smile, exposing a long row of flawless teeth.

"You do remember that I work here, darling?"

"I meant to ask what you are doing down _here_," replied Minerva tartly, moving just an inch away from his constantly advancing hands, "in the reception area. Don't touch my face, Topaz. I shall not tell you again."

"You better hadn't," the man replied cheekily, but turned serious again as a thought seemed to strike him. "You visiting someone?"

"A friend," nodded Minerva, glad that he was finally putting his hands in the overlarge pockets of his healer's robes. "He was injured during the Battle of Hogwarts."

"The 'Battle of Hogwarts?'" enquired her opposite, "is that what it is called now? At your work place?"

"You know the young folk," Minerva replied crisply. "They will glorify any blood bath, if only it is spectacular enough."

The man nodded gravely.

Minerva regarded his handsome face for a while, sighing inwardly. "Topaz," she said eventually, "we shall – have to talk. Not now, because I have other business to attend to, but would you like to join me for a cup of tea on Sunday, perhaps?"

The man nodded again, more eagerly this time.

"With pleasure, love. Not much work to do around here at the moment. All Quidditch games have been suspended for a week to honour the dead of the war's final battle."

"Is that what it's called now?" said Minerva, not particularly interested in the state of St. Mungo's Department of Quidditch Injuries, but making sure her expression turned into a sufficiently resentful frown at the renewed uptake of pet names from his side. "At _your_ workplace?"

"It is what the newspapers call it, I daresay," replied her opposite firmly.

The two had moved a little closer to one side of the room by now, as to not stand in anyone's way. Minerva threw a tentative look at an hour-glass-shaped clock hanging behind the Enquiry desk and decided that she could allow for a little delay.

"Are you going to enquire about your daughter at all?" she asked, well aware that her voice sounded more pointed than would have been necessary. The healer's expression displayed no perceptible change.

"Of course," he said warmly – a little too warmly, if Minerva could trust her senses, "how is she?"

"Quite well," Minerva replied, crossing her arms before her chest. "She moved in with mother and father again. Apparently they said they would be 'delighted' to have her."

Topaz gave a long and hearty laugh, putting his hand on Minerva's shoulder again.

"She is your daughter through and through!" he said eventually, patting her a little.

Minerva raised an eyebrow.

"Is she? I was under the impression that I was living in my own flat by the age of fourty-two, supporting myself with a small but nevertheless sufficient income."

"Of course! Of course you did," Topaz replied quickly, his hand playing with a strand of Minerva's hair. She decided to ignore it, for the moment. "It is just that – you would have been more than welcome in your parents' house, too, if I know your father…"

"Manor," Minerva interrupted coldly.

"Manor," agreed Topaz. "As I say, your parents seem to be quite glad about company these days. Your mother, at least, continues to impress upon me the option of the two of us moving into the east wing –"

"My mother, as you know," interrupted the headmistress, straightening a little, "is quite unaware that such a thing as a divorce of a wizarding marriage exists. She is thus under the false impression that if only we spent enough time together, our marriage could be revived."

"A wonderfully insightful woman –" Topaz began, but Minerva interrupted him again.

"You will not be surprised to hear that my views are quite a bit more modern than my mother's, Topaz. But I suggest not to discuss this matter at your work place, given that we are getting looks already."

These last words had been spoken in a low and angry hiss. Minerva realised that once again a simple conversation with her ex-husband had successfully driven her to the limits of her patience without either of the two realising how. Topaz, too, seemed to have noticed a change in the general atmosphere and seemed at a loss at how to counteract this.

"Minerva, I –"

"McGonagall!" came a sudden voice from one of the double doors to their left now, and both partners in conversation turned towards the man to whom it obviously belonged, reacting instinctively, simultaneously – "Yes?"

The man seemed confused for a while, then turned to Topaz as he spoke.

"Sir," he said, rubbing his palms nervously against the sides of his green robes, "we have a problem in the Gorsemoor Ward. Are you free?"

Topaz threw a brief look at his ex-wife and then nodded curtly.

"I'll come right with you, Stroulger. Minerva, if you'll excuse me…"

"Of course," the headmistress said, trying not to sound all too relieved. "Do remember to drop by on Sunday. I shall invite Morgana." She gave Stroulger a brief nod and swept away towards the Enquiry desk once more.

To her surprise and pleasure the queue had, by now, dissolved into something not worth mentioning and the blonde witch gave the headmistress a friendly smile as she approached to enquire about Severus's exact whereabouts.

"First floor, first door on the left," the witch said placidly. "Although at the moment he might be doing magiotherapy. Would you like me to check for you?"

"Yes, please," replied Minerva, her hands clasping the straps of her small leather bag. Of course, hospital proceedings would continue in spite of visitors. Lestrange's notification had missed her the previous day, she recalled, because like most of her colleagues, Minerva had returned to teaching instantly when enough repair work had been done to ensure a smooth flow of school everyday life. This was in order to enable the remaining students to finish their exams in time and to convey a general sense of normality within the wizarding world. Whatever reforms were planned for Hogwarts and its inhabitants would have to wait until exam week was over. The NEWTs and the OWLs at the very least had to take place as scheduled.

"Magiotherapy it is," said the blonde witch now, pulling Minerva out of her daydreaming. "I was right. One of the nurses is with him, it seems. Left-hand corridor on this floor, please. The whole wing is under magical quarantine. You will have to leave your wand here, I am afraid."

Minerva nodded gravely, handing over her 13 inches ivy wand, which the blonde witch stowed away in a small, black casket under her desk. Minerva then received a small slip with her wand's details written on it and proceeded towards the assigned door that lead into the quarantaine floor.

* * *

** Author's Note:** Desperate for some Severus-Minerva interaction yet? Ha! Me too. :D I won't keep you on tenterhooks much longer now. Chapter 6 is already in the making. Apologies to those who were expecting to see the two Professors talk much earlier than this. I am deliberately keeping chapters short, which increases their number, of course. 


	6. An Impatient Patient

**An Impatient Patient **

The corridor was only dimly lit and gave Minerva the distinct impression of having entered a deserted factory building. There were a number of huge boxes standing around at the far end and the few doors were all heavily bolted. For a moment, the headmistress wondered whether she had taken a wrong turn, but then, suddenly, one of the doors, locked though it had previously seemed, was pushed open and the figure of a thin, hook-nosed man appeared. He seemed angry and attempted to slam the door behind him, but it merely groaned under its own weight and then slid back into closed position at a snail's pace. When the man turned, his dark gaze fell upon Minerva, who had halted five or six feet away from him, clutching her handbag to her chest.

It was as though someone had sucked all sound from the corridor. Both Professors gazed at each other, unmoving, only too well aware when their last encounter had taken place and how. Minerva's thoughts raced, going through possibilities of what to say to the man she had opposed more or less openly for almost a year now, but none seemed entirely right. Her body was trembling slightly and breathing was suddenly not as simple as it had seemed only minutes before.

"Severus…"

More silence.

"My friend…"

From the door behind the Snape, a second figure appeared, smaller than either of the two teachers, but bobbing up and down with rage nevertheless.

"So stubborn…" shouted Livius Toke at Severus, completely oblivious of Minerva's presence, "…and it's gonna be _me_ who'll have to explain to Lestrange your lack of practice, is it? Well, I won't have –" He stopped, his eyes focussing on the spot behind his patient, where Minerva was standing almost motionlessly, vaguely surprised. She raised two and a half clammy fingers in greeting. Toke seemed confused.

"Oh… hi, Professor…"

Severus turned to the younger man, slowly and with a pointed expression on his gaunt face.

"We shall resume practice tomorrow. Same time, same place. Do not forget that I told you to ask Moody whether close observation through medical personel is, in fact, absolutely necessary."

Toke looked a little taken aback, but he was, as Minerva knew, someone who understood when the game was lost.

"Yes, sir," the young man replied, a slightly cold edge to his voice, and stalked off in the direction from which Minerva had just come. The colleagues' two gazes interlocked again.

"Interestingly bat-like flying style," Minerva eventually heard herself observe.

"Thank you," was the curt reply.

"We kept the window as it was," continued the headmistress sarcastically. "As an eternal reminder of your stupidity."

"Stupidity?" Her colleague seemed honestly surprised.

"Well, yes, stupidity," Minerva breathed. "One word, Severus. One small _gesture_, and you would not have had to live with our resistence for an entire year. I would have needed to know – would have _wanted_ to know…"

"I know you would," stated her colleague, watching her intently through a pair of glittering, dark eyes. He seemed to consider her anger (or perhaps survey it by the means given to him through Legilimency?) and decide that she was angry out of defence. "There is nothing I accuse you of, Minerva," he thus added, "You did nothing wrong."

There was more silence. Minerva considered, just for a moment, whether to take offence at this statement, but then decided to recognise it as a somewhat clumsy attempt of making her feel better. Severus's face was lit from above now, which, Minerva realised, was rare. Even in the Great Hall, most of the light had always come from the side or even below, making the man seem ugly – even menacing.

"I refuse to let you hand out pardons here," she replied a little crisply, taking a few very small steps towards him, only to stop again when sensing that any further advances would mean invading his personal boundaries. "You lied to me, Severus. Years, and years, and years of lying."

"I did?" the young man said, sounding surprised again. "Would you care to enlighten me exactly when I have not told you the exact truth about my current status within the war? Did I not always tell you that I was acting on Dumbledore's orders, and his orders alone, and would continue to do so for the rest of my life?"

"I am not talking about your status," Minerva said tartly. "I never really bought the 'big bad Death Eater' nonsense. But how about you _assuring_ me that 'really, nothing unusual' was going on last year before you left us so spectacularly?"

"Plotting an attack on an enemy is not unusual for Death Eaters," her colleague informed her, his lips curling slightly. "Really, Minerva. You of all people should know that to obtain good answers, you will need to ask very precise questions."

For a moment, Minerva was at a loss what to say.

"And the killing of Dumbledore?" she eventually asked. "Would you consider the killing unusual at least?"

"I notice you are no longer talking about cold-blooded murder, as you did in your countless speeches last year," Severus observed.

"It _was_ planned, was it not?" Minerva retorted, her eyes narrowed.

"Yes," said Severus simply. "As I am sure Potter has already told you in great detail."

"Potter told me nothing," snapped Minerva angrily. "He did mention that you were 'on our side' – with half the school and You-Know-Who assembled around him – but when I questioned him on the topic of your… ah… allegiances a little later, he merely said that the information you had given him was strictly private and that I would have to trust him on the matter."

Severus's eyes narrowed incredulously. Minerva knew that the idea of Potter keeping a secret to himself disagreed with everything Severus thought he knew of the boy and Gryffindors in general. "The entire school?"

"It was quite a spectacle," Minerva sighed. "Quite a number of people worship you as a tragic hero now. I do not think most of them realise that you did not, in fact, die. News travel slowly if the original version is so much more romantic."

"What do you mean – 'romantic'?"

Suddenly, Severus seemed very alert. Minerva wondered, just for a second, if there was a point of the story she had, once again, not been told, but then resolved that if Severus wished to share this information, he would volunteer it in due time.

"Yes," she replied softly. "You know, the despised Potions teacher who turns out to be a double-agent for the 'good side' and dies in the process of saving the wizarding world. It is all very fantasy. You were not supposed to survive."

Severus seemed to consider this, his gaze slightly unfocussed for a moment or two. "And yet I did…" he then mumbled, tracing his thin lips with one of his spidery fingers. "I escaped death."

"So you did," Minerva said, sensing a sudden heat on her cheeks. "Severus, why don't we sit down somewhere? The hospital has a lovely café on the upmost level…"

"I am afraid I am not allowed to leave this part of the building," her colleague replied darkly. "Current circumstances force me to stay away from all kinds of magic, even elevators and basic cleaning spells, and this area is magically sealed so that no magic whatsoever can accidentally get in or out."

"Sounds as though you are exposed to sealing magic all the time," Minerva frowned, angry at herself for having forgotten about her colleague's feeble state.

"I know," he replied, "but that is not how the body perceives it. It all has to do with whether the magic is large-scale or not. If you seal a huge area like this wing, it is like thinning a potion and thus rendering the individual ingredients within, however strong they might be, harmless to the drinker."

"But ingredients – I mean magic is not allowed in here," Minerva contradicted. "Why would it not be if it could not harm you?"

"It could not harm anyone with a minor theurgic disfunction," Severus said drily. "A person, on the other hand, who freely distributes a potion containing shredded doxy teeth on their back…"

"I understand," Minerva said quickly. "Of course you would still be in a critical state after all this."

They found a place, eventually, where they could talk freely without tedious interruptions by nurses or other patients. There was a small room at the end of the first year corridor in which Severus's ward was situated, which provided a small table and a couple of chairs, as well as a completely mechanical, non-magic coffee machine. Minerva examined it thoroughly before sitting down, not being much of a coffee person. Severus looked tense and somehow forlorn. He was wearing the ochre shirt of those who stayed in St. Mungo's longer than just a day or two, but moved as elegantly as ever, Minerva found.

"They tell me my magic will return," Severus eventually opened the conversation. "But it will remain unstable for a long time."

Minerva nodded, remembering Lestrange's words.

"It seems I will have to live away from wizarding folk for a while," her colleague continued pensively, "which should not pose much of a problem. Spinner's End has never been particularly magical."

"You do have Floo access there, though, do you not?" the headmistress enquired critically. "And is the old mill not used as an entry lane for the main Portkey route to Cornwall?"

Severus thumped his hand flatly on the table. "I never thought about that," he mumbled. "Having witches and wizards appear and disappear frequently in my front yard might pose a problem. I shall make some enquiries. Moody has an excellent knowledge of these things, albeit being a abysmal potions brewer."

"She must have done well in her final exams to get accepted at St. Mungo's though," Minerva observed, permitting herself a small smile at her sharp-tongued friend. "She did not seem particularly happy to find you in her care, by the way. It seems you gave her a rather hard time at school."

"Remind me," replied Severus coldly, "was it you who told me that it is impossible for a teacher to be liked by every single of his students?"

"It was," Minerva sighed. "But I would also have thought it impossible for an entire group of Gryffindor first-years to rally up against a particular teacher in the course of a single year, fifteen years in a row without an apparent reason. You already proved me wrong in too many matters."

"Gryffindors are bullies by nature," Severus replied, almost automatically. "They tear apart whatever they get into their greedy little hands."

"Do not even go there!" Minerva snapped. "I strongly suggest you refrain from insulting my students in front of me while your condition is still as fragile as it is!"

"You know well that your current students are an insult to _themselves_," Severus retorted, ignoring her empty threat. "And to the house's 'good' reputation."

They were both back in shape – and well aware of it. Minerva drummed her fingers on the mock wooden surface of the table, looking stern.

"My Gryffindors are no more bullies than your Slytherins, Severus Snape," she said tartly. "The things Draco Malfoy alone believes he can afford within Hogwarts walls are a true affront to the spirit of the school –"

"The spirit of the school has always consisted of healthy rivalry," Severus retorted. "Draco Malfoy lives up to this without overstepping the line, unlike certain other very popular… Incidentally, are there any Death Eater children at all who returned to school after the Dark Lord fell?"

Seriousness was back. Minerva stopped in the middle of a well thought-through retort and heaved a small sigh instead.

"Slytherin house is seriously reduced in numbers," she said quietly. "But yes, some returned. And I have to tell you that we have a similar situation as last time – a lot of people returned and now claim they acted under the influence of the Imperius Curse. Personally, I would refrain from re-admitting half of them on Hogwarts grounds ever again. But, alas, no one asks what I think, of course."

"You are the headmistress," Severus observed drily. "I expect they will have you let a say in the matter."

"I wish," Minerva mumbled. "Of course I was temporarily installed as headmistress again when Kingsley took up his new position as Minister for Magic, but –"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt?"

"How many Kingsleys do you know, Severus?"

"A _half-blood_ Minister for Magic?"

Minerva's expression turned to stone.

"I beg your pardon?"

There was a small silence.

"I'll just pretend I did not hear that, shall I?" Minerva heard her own voice, sharp with the fear of the unspoken. Severus hesitated and then nodded.

"Apologies," he said coldly.

"I shall have to leave soon," Minerva said curtly. "Hogwarts duties."

"No!" The younger man's voice suddenly assumed an odd tone, which Minerva had rarely ever heard on him, and only ever in extreme situations. "Please…"

Having half raised from her chair already, she lowered herself again slowly, gripping both arms of her chair quite tensely.

"Do not leave me on account of what I just said," said Severus then, his voice suddenly hoarse. "I do not… wish for us to part like this. And it was not my intention to sound like… as though…"

"As though you still had not left behind the old values to which your former master so desperately used to cling," Minerva said gently, taking one of her colleague's pale, long-fingered hands into her own. "I understand, Severus. More than you know. I always have, even if the headmaster and you stubbornly refused to take notice of it."

"I did!" he said quickly, not quite meeting the headmistress's eye. Minerva shook her head to herself, just slightly, understanding that this was not the time, nor the place.

"I know you try to," she replied. "I'll be back as soon as I can, Severus. We have a staff meeting this afternoon and I would not want to be late, seeing as the meeting cannot begin without me."

There was another silence. Then the Snape nodded, solemnly, as though coming to terms with her leaving so abruptly.

"I shall be looking forward to talking to you again, headmistress."

"I see you tomorrow, Severus."


	7. Like a First Year

**Like a First-Year  
**

No more than twenty hours later, Minerva returned to the realms of her ex-husband and the temporary dwelling place of her friend. The Enquiry desk position was taken by an undersized, fair-haired young wizard this time, who watched Minerva's wand admiringly for one or two seconds, before storing it away under the desk once again and handing its owner the little slip of parchment with all the wand's details on it.

"I admire phoenix wands," he explained in broken English when Minerva enquired about his fascinated expression. "I got good wand from Gregorovitch myself many years ago. But not many phoenixes in Russia. We take dwarf hair. Very strong."

"I thought Gregorovitch was German," Minerva replied, frowning, "not Russian."

"Oh no!" the young receptionist replied, looking horror-struck. "What give you idea? He maybe lived in Germany some time. I do not know. Many migrants move there and back and there and back again. But his family descendants of Gregor Gregorovitch of Samara, first chairman of the great Russian Wizard Duma of 1694. As Russian as can be. Look at name."

"I apologise," said Minerva quickly, aware that she had hit a nerve. "Thank you very much indeed for your help. I shall proceed if you do not mind."

And she disappeared through the familiar double-door at the other end of the reception area. Having been told that Severus was, once again, to be found in magiotherapy, Minerva tentatively approached the door from which he had appeared the previous day, knocked shortly, just out of habit, assuming that nothing could be heard inside, and pushed the heavy cast iron away from her to enter a brilliantly-lit room.

Between a white cupboard filled with important-looking parchments and a lengthy couch, Severus was sitting on a three-legged stool, his back to the door, apparently involved in some business that required great concentration. Beside him, Toke was sitting on the edge of a small, whitish desk, chewing his fingernails and nodding at Minerva as though it was the most natural thing in the world for anyone to interrupt their session at any given point.

At the sound of the door opening, Severus turned. His face was no paler than usual and he was wearing the same long-sleeved shirt as the day before. Minerva looked down along her friend's lanky body and noticed, not without surprise, that he was holding a wand.

"Magic?" she asked, despite herself. "In here?"

"Professor Snape's own magic will not harm him," came Toke's voice from behind the former Potions Master. "In fact, it is necessary for him to do magic in order to strengthen his theurgic system. That's what we are doing in here. I daresay you are welcome to watch."

Severus, obviously of the same opinion, did not speak, but raised his wand at one of the flower pots on the window still and made a small but recognisable levitation movement. The pot shivered and remained in position. Toke, on the other hand, jumped up.

"Good!" he gasped. "Excellent! Did you see it move?"

"I did," said the Snape coldly, clearly dissatisfied with his own performance. Without looking at Minerva, he flicked his wand at the pot again, which now dissolved into sticky, smelling liquid. Toke looked less happy than before, but attempted a heartening smile.

"Well done, Professor. It's coming back. Fascinating stuff, this…"

"I am aware, Toke, that this is probably your first encounter with seriously Dark Magic," his patient remarked, "but there is no reason whatsoever to be so persistently encouraging about every single spell I cast. Believe it or not, but I am planning to regain my magic, to the last drop, without an overexcited ex-student whispering words of moral support into my ear."

"I am not whispering," Toke said, looking hurt. "I just meant to say… it works, doesn't it? And that's good!"

"Obviously," Severus replied, watching his wand with a small smile playing around his white lips, and then turned to Minerva again. "It works quite well occasionally," he told her. "Not usually the way I intended, but there _is_ magic and it will start focussing again as soon as the strings of magic within me have sufficiently healed."

"Did Moody tell you this?" Minerva enquired.

"Moody talks sometimes," Severus replied, "and on rare occasions I get to speak with Healer Pye, whom I find much more pleasant company. They both seem very happy about the current state of my development."

"Well, I am glad you are making progress," Minerva said softly. "Would you mind me watching your efforts, or shall I come back later?"

"These sessions are not particularly entertaining," Severus replied, pointing his wand at Toke's chest, "but the company can be."

His lips curled into a satisfied smile as the nurse squealed and jumped out of the way.

"Congratulations, Severus," said Minerva with a small, reproachful laugh. "You succeed in frightening young people out of their wits even when they are not attending your classes."

"I am not frightened," came Toke's voice from behind the desk.

"Practising magic is a tedious business," Severus replied throughtfully, scratching his neck with the tip of his wand and ignoring the tone in Minerva's voice. "One feels a little like a first-year again, attempting to gain control over one's wand."

"Oh, I daresay it is particularly our fifth-years who struggle with that particular problem," Minerva remarked and for a moment, there was a dry, perfectly sarcstic understanding between the two professors, before Severus broke the silence and pointed his wand at the bookshelf.

"_Incendo_!"

"No big spells, Professor," Toke protested, having returned to his previous position rather hesitantly. "You know they won't work. Your failure will only discourage and keep you from further attempts."

"And which book did you copy that piece of wisdom from?" Severus replied drily. "_Incendo!!_"

The bookshelf remained stubbornly unignited.

"You might want to attempt some basic transfiguration," Minerva suggested, pointing at a quill that was lying next to Toke on the desk. "There is more mind-work than magic in most of the spells I teach."

Severus hesitated.

"Come on," Minerva went on, more and more convinced of her idea. "Have a try, Mr. Snape. One, two, three, _Pluma Verto_."

Her colleague shot her a nasty look. "I seem to remember now why I hated your subject so much," he remarked drily. "Incidentally, if there is so little actual magic involved in these spells, why would I need the one-two-three bridge, 'Professor'?"

"Just for practice," said Minerva, an impish smile playing around her lips. "We want to be sure you'll get through the exams, don't we?"

At last, comprehension seemed to dawn on Toke, who had been looking from one professor to the other with increasing unease. He now picked up the quill, placed it on the floor a little closer to where Severus was sitting and made an inviting gesture.

"You could try and vanish it."

"_Evanesco_!" Severus said obligingly and the quill evaporated. Both wizards and Minerva stared at the spot where it had previously lain, considerable surprise visible on all three faces.

"Good…!" Toke began excitedly, but stopped when his former Potions teacher gave him a look that might actually have killed, for all the young nurse knew. "Sorry…"

"Progress," said Severus, not dissatisfied, tracing his wand smugly with his left index finger. He left open whether he was talking about his own success or not, but it sounded for all the world as though he was trying to teach his opposite manners. "Now all I need is practice. If I could only do it alone, undisturbed by the younger generation… but alas, Moody shows the same tendencies towards practised sadism as her uncle used to."

"By granting you Toke's splendid presence?" Minerva enquired several minutes later, taking up the subject again when they were sitting in the same narrow room as the day before, both teachers holding a mug of tea in their hands this time. "Looks more like an act of good will to me. Nurses are not usually paid for receiving orders from their patients, you know."

Severus seemed in a considerably good mood, having managed to successfully vanish several more quills and a piece of parchment by the end of the session. His progress was amazing, Toke had continued to observe until Severus has threatened to attempt to vanish the young nurse's bowels next. Minerva could not help but feel a certain excitement every time she looked into her friend's face. He seemed so content now… so placid… as though the days prior to his last encounter with the Dark Lord had never occurred.

She noticed during the rest of her stay, as well as during a number of visits in the following weeks, that Severus spoke little of his former master, even now, and avoided the topic of Albus Dumbledore entirely. He also seemed to go very silent whenever the name of Harry Potter came up and Minerva suspected that there was still an unresolved matter between himself and the "Boy Who Lived Twice", as many people laughingly called You-Know-Who's conqueror these days.

Only once did the two colleagues get into a conversation, in which Severus's interest seemed picked enough to enquire a little further into what had actually happened at Hogwarts after he had left it headed towards Hogsmeade.

Minerva had come freshly from a meeting with the Hogwarts governors that day, which she had left early due to an unforeseen turn of events concerning the headship of the school. In recent weeks, the headmistress had grown almost accustomed to entering and leaving Dumbledore's former office and discovered many items she had found incredibly useful in the service of the school and its students. Items, such as a tiny reception bell, which rung on its own accord as soon as one of the student or a member of staff was taken to the hospital wing. Or a mirror, which showed any part of the castle if you tapped its surface three times with your middle finger.

Indeed, Minerva had grown accustomed to the thought that she would have these items (and others) at her disposal from now on, so that the governors' announcement that they would be looking for a new headmaster in due course had almost come as a surprise.

Severus seemed to sense her moodiness and remained silent during the first half of her visit. He spoke little, these days, and Minerva felt irritated by the fact that she, of all people, had to try and make conversation.

"It is not as though I am after his personal belongings," she said gruffly, having recounted the most important points of the meeting. "Most of them have already passed to Aberforth anyway, although I am not entirely sure what to do with his Pensieve, I must say. I doubt he would have wanted his brother to have it."

"The Pensieve is still at Hogwarts then?" Severus enquired, sounding strangely tense.

"Of course, it is," Minerva replied, frowning. "It is fully functional, too, I am told. I obviously did not try for myself. Matters of direct mind control make me a little uneasy, I have to say."

"It would be functional," Severus said quietly. "Because it is mine. Now, at any rate. Dumbledore's thoughts will be gone without exception. Memories do not linger when a person has passed on. But there is a select number of my own memories in there as well, which I would very much like to see protected, Minerva. If you would see to that the Pensieve is locked up safely upon your return, I would be immensely grateful."

Minerva stared at her colleague in surprise.

"You think?" she said uneasily. "What makes you believe it will just pass into your possession?"

"It does not automatically do so," replied Severus coldly. "But as long as my thoughts are in there the Pensieve will only take whatever comes out of _my_ head, no one else's. Unless I decide to share, obviously, as Dumbledore did. But seeing as there are no other Legilimences around…"

"Severus," said Minerva quietly, "can you still do Legilimency at the moment?"

A dark shadow passed Severus's expression, giving him temporarily the impression of a child, resentful of having been deprived of its favourite toy. "Obviously not," he replied darkly, avoiding his colleague's gaze. "I managed to perform some Occlumency again shortly after I woke up, but Legilimency requires much more focus – much more actual magic."

"It must be a nuisance to be in this state," Minerva muttered.

"I am not worried," Severus replied coldly. "Magic always returns. It does already. I improved the potion I used somewhat after brewing it, just to increase my chances… and I must say I did not count on someone turning up so shortly after the battle was finished to secure my body. I was – lucky."

"Potter told everyone you were innocent," Minerva said quietly. "He seemed to be entirely sure, so… knowing him and his opinion of you I was inclined to believe – what _did_ you offer him as proof?" she suddenly added, aware that last time she had believed someone without questioning his sources, this someone had ended up dead at the foot of the Astronomy Tower.

Snape's lips curled.

"Is a Potter's conviction not enough for you to trust me?"

"I have always trusted you," replied the headmistress quietly. "I could not believe you returned to being a Death Eater again that night."

"And yet, you did," Severus said, his voice unwavering.

"Indeed I did…" Against her will, Minerva's eyes started watering slightly, making her colleague clear his throat and look at his fingertips.

"Severus, what was I supposed to think?" Minerva whispered. "You gave me no reason at all to assume that you had not killed Dumbledore in cold blood. You fooled the entire wizarding world, including You-Know-Who into believing that you were on their side again. How could I be an exception?"

"You are my friend," he said flatly, seeming marginally nervous about her new state of mind. "But as I said, it is good that you remained unsuspecting. I told you I would not hold this against you."

"That is not the point," Minerva replied hoarsely. "I am not seeking your pity. I would like to know why you trusted me so little. Why you and… and Dumbledore felt it would be too risky to let me know of your plans – about the Horcruxes…"

Almost visibly, the hair on the back of Severus's neck stood up.

"Beg your pardon?"

There was a small silence.

"The Horcruxes," Minerva said bitterly, remembering young Potter's explanations. "The Dark Lord's Horcruxes."

A pair of entirely blank eyes met her own.

"He made a Horcrux?"

"Not one," Minerva frowned. "Seven. One of them unintentionally. I told you of Potter's final battle, did I not?"

"You never mentioned –" Severus began, but then broke off. "Seven Horcruxes? Are you serious?"

Minerva, mollified though nevertheless surprised to learn that Severus had apparently been unaware of the Dark Lord's exact plans, nodded slowly. She told the younger man all she had managed to get out of Potter so far, which admittedly was still not much because the young man seemed to have less time each day what with hundreds of fans and admirers travelling to Hogwarts to shake his hand and thank him in person.

Severus was intrigued, but when Minerva had no more to say, he did not enquire any further and the conversation reached less crucial matters again.


	8. The Point of No Return

**The Point of No Return**

Severus's condition improved steadily. Minerva was a frequent visitor and after almost three weeks, she decided that it was time to tell the world of the war's 'other' hero's recovery.

It had seemed surprisingly quiet around Severus. When the list of casualties had arrived at Hogwarts, Minerva had been astonished to find that not even Harry Potter had noticed his former teacher's name missing on it. Perhaps, she mused, he had been too busy grieving for some of his closest friends – because naturally he had suffered great personal loss himself. (George Weasley, they said, was still being visited by a healer every week over his mental state, and even the new Minister for Magic was no quicker getting the formalities done for Andromeda Tonks to become the official guardian of her grandson Teddy Tonks after the tragic death of both the baby boy's parents.)

And the list had been long, of course, it was hard to keep track of who had lost a relative in the last battle. Particularly regarding some of the students' state of mind when writing their end of year exams, Minerva had decided to go through the families, one by one, who had suffered a death or more during the final battle and to contact those whose son or daughter was down for their NEWTs or OWLs this year about a resit after the holidays. Years one to four and six, she announced one breakfast as the second week of June was approaching, would be exempt from the examinations, due to the grievous events of previous weeks, and in memoriam of Albus Dumbledore, the only headmaster who had ever cancelled an entire exam week at a whim, some six years or so ago.

Against all instinct, Minerva had decided to keep quiet about Severus's current state until now. Partly because she had not spoken to the former Potions Master about his options yet, and partly because no one had actually enquired about his health, a fact, which she felt would have been a reason for him to remain out of the picture. Everyone seemed to quietly assume that Severus Snape was dead and gone and that Minerva had taken care of his body – transferred it back to his home village, or whatever other people had done with the remains of their friends and family members.

And still Minerva had remained quiet. When exam week approached its end, however, a thought that had been forming in the headmistress's mind for several weeks now began to make its presence known so profoundly that it could no longer be ignored. She confronted her colleague about it on a more or less sunny Friday afternoon during a visit, which, for the first time, took place outside the barren coldness of the hospital's quarantined wing. Livius Toke had, for the day, been replaced by Healer Moody, whose presence was required for the more crucial steps in Severus's healing process such as going outside for the first time.

Both women were walking on either side of the lanky wizard and while Minerva was throwing occasional worried glances in her colleague's general direction, Moody seemed entirely preoccupied with her notes, which she had loosely fastened onto a shabby-looking clipboard. Severus's expression was as motion- and emotionless as ever and Minerva was looking for a non-superficial yet not too intimate topic to discuss in the healer's presence.

"I was thinking about letting the students know that you are alive during the end-of-term feast," she said eventually when they had been walking in silence for several minutes already, watching the trees alongside the beautiful alley that led away from St. Mungo's Hospital and into the city's only wizarding park. "They will want to know that you live. Particularly your Slytherins."

There was a small break, in which only the sound of birds could be heard. It was a very specific mixture of birds, typical for wizarding parks, most of them native to places a lot warmer and a lot more Southern than Scotland's West coast. Minerva took barely notice of them.

"Slughorn's Slytherins," Severus then replied, deciding to ignore the implicit question.

"They used to be yours," said Minerva tensely. "And they will be again, won't they? Horace is already sick of teaching. Says he'd prefer to travel Sussex and the Channel Islands now that it is safe to be seen in certain places again. You have made great progress. I am sure, if you continue to practice, your magic will be back by the end of the holidays. It is true, is it not, that if your magic returns fully, you will have the strength to maintain your theurgic system on your own accord?"

"Not quite," came Moody's voice from behind Minerva's colleague. She had not even looked up from her papers, which seemed to reach a state of ordered disorder through her persistent fiddling.

"Minerva," said Severus then, before the healer could elaborate, "what makes you think I'll go back to teaching Potions at all?"

There was a small silence. Minerva put one of her skinny hands into the other and drew her shoulders slightly, as to indicate a certain formality.

"I was hoping… well, I obviously assumed you'd be interested…" she began, but broke off when the young healer looked up for the first time.

"He won't return to Hogwarts," Moody said brusquely, brushing a strand of ash blond hair out of her face. "Don't you realise, Professor?"

"_I _do," remarked Severus.

Minerva clasped his shoulder in horror. As always, the younger man twitched instinctively, but kept himself steadily in place – for her sake, Minerva knew.

"Why on earth…" she whispered, not quite able to maintain a steady voice. "Severus, I never…"

They had stopped, all three of them, aware that continuing their walk would distract from the significance of the discussion.

"Because the place is crammed with other people's magic," Moody answered for her patient, exchanging a brief glance with the hook-nosed man. "Professor Snape's own magic was damaged very seriously, Professor McGonagall, I am not sure you realise just how much and how long-lasting. The fact that his magic is returning so quickly does by no means imply that we can just expose him to random magic from outside. Particularly not to stray spells of underage witches and wizards, as well as a serious concentration of security spells and, do not forget, House-Elf magic."

She had been a diligent student. There was something to the theory that she was a very good and diligent healer as well. Minerva felt that she trusted the younger woman instinctively, perhaps a little too much.

"I am sorry, Professor," Moody then said, following Severus to a nearby bench, on which he put a shoe to do his laces, "but I am afraid you will have to look for someone else to teach Potions. From the way things seem now I would be surprised if Professor Snape ever returned to Hogwarts."

Minerva rounded on Severus, who still seemed perfectly composed.

"Did you know this?"

"Yes," he replied casually, changing from one shoe to the next. A group of giggling underage witches passed them and for a moment Minerva had the distinct impression that the entire wizarding world was pointing at her, laughing. "Lestrange told me a few days after the second scan. I believe we even discussed it."

"You never mentioned the damage would be permanent!"

"Not permanent," Moody remarked. "But we cannot estimate how long…"

"Hogwarts is your home!" Minerva interrupted, taking a seat on the bench, next to Severus's leg. "You _must _be allowed to return!"

"You might be surprised to hear it, but I would prefer to avoid a renewed collapse," replied the Potions Master coldly. Minerva realised that he must have been avoiding these thoughts for as long as he had known and her eyes filled with tears of shock and sympathy for his attempts to appear as though all this meant nothing to him. She quickly searched her pocket for a handkerchief to prevent further embarrassment. Severus watched with apparently growing unease.

"I spoke to Courtus a few days ago," Moody now said, possibly only to fill the awkward silence, "and we agreed that we will have serious trouble bringing about the Professor's full recovery. You see, it is impossible to cut off anyone's body from all outside magic, and it has been increasingly difficult to stabilise his own in the light of the minor interruptions even the quarantine field within the hospital building cannot entirely prevent…"

"But he has made so much progress," Minerva interrupted. "Did you not tell me you succeeded in conjuring and applying a piece of spellotape to your nurse's mouth the other day, Severus?"

"This is not about simple conjuring tricks," said Moody impatiently while Severus pointedly watched a squirrel make its way to the nearest tree top. "This is about Professor Snape's magic rebuilding itself from scratch. We basically need to make sure he remains in stable surroundings while we try to revive his own magic by means of as little magic as possible. Only level one potions, for instance, and no spells."

Minerva nodded. She had grasped that part, she felt.

"What you need to understand," said Moody quietly, "is that our means of enforcement have their limits due to the degree to which we can stabilise Professor Snape's surroundings so that it might take years before he can gain a near full recovery. Under any circumstances, exposing Professor Snape in his current state to the full blast of Hogwarts's underage magic would be insane."

"Deadly, even," Minerva whispered and the healer nodded.

"I would prefer," said Severus suddenly, making the two women almost jump, "if you did not address the topic of my well-being in your end-of-term speech at all, Minerva. At least not until it is clear that I will not, in fact, have to spend the rest of my life as a Muggle."

And he let himself drop to the bench next to Minerva with a small but perceptible thud, putting his head in one hand while staring at the bench opposite them, where an old lady was trying to feed a bunch of silver-furred squirrels with little golden wings on their tiny backs.

The Hogwarts headmistress was so startled by this sudden display of despair, combined with a growing awareness that the days of friendly bantering and heartily sarcastic rivalry between the heads of Gryffindor and Slytherin had come to an ultimate end, that she merely nodded.


	9. An Idea

**An Idea**

Moody pulled a face at the cheerless sack of plumes her patient had turned into and put both hands on her hips, the disordered clipboard still in one of them.

"You won't," she snapped, obviously determined to despise every trace of even implicit self-pity in her former teacher's demeanour. "Our means are improving every day and your magic is returning quickly. The fact that you cannot return to Hogwarts or Hogsmeade or… whatever… Godric's Hollow does not mean that you will have to live cut off from the wizarding world altogether. On the contrary, in fact. There are places, which I suggest you visit frequently once you leave the hospital, as to improve your general well-being. The Ministry for Magic, for instance, has a department for the development of time turners or something…"

"That would be the Department of Practical History," Minerva said automatically. "They organise the development, distribution and continued supervision of short-distance time turners, among other things. My father is part of the team that erases time-travel accidents and obliviates unintentional time-travellers when they return to their time and place of departure," she added, feeling that she ought to explain where her very precise knowledge derived from.

"That one," Moody said, sounding interested. "I've always wondered… but anyway, some of the premises this department uses – not all within the Ministry building, I am told – some of them are so secure that we have been trying to lay our hands on one of their more advanced time turners for decades now. The stability some of their devices can achieve surpasses anything we can do at St. Mungo's. If someone in Professor Snape's condition spent most of his time in such stable surroundings, the healing process could be seriously quickened. It might be a matter of shortening the time of recovery by six or seven years…"

She broke off, possibly confused by the expression on Minerva's face, who had grabbed her colleague's shoulder again (Severus had actually twitched and withdrawn this time), an idea suddenly very vivid in her overactive Gryffindor brain.

"Would a ninth degree time turner covering a four-winged, fourteen bedroom manor be a place where Severus might recover with such increased space?" she enquired with gleaming eyes. Moody stared.

"Ninth degree? But only people in top ministry positions… definitely only members of the Department…"

"My father is a practical historian," Minerva interrupted eagerly. "He needs such a time turner to travel freely between the centuries. His working place is McGillivray manor, twenty miles to the West of Hogwarts. It has remained practically empty since my daughter and I moved out several years ago, but since he uses the entire building for his travels, it is completely stabilised in terms of its own chronology."

"Your father is Hamish McGillivray of the Department of Practical History?" Moody said sharply.

"Yes, exactly!" Minerva exclaimed, thoroughly unable to conceal her excitement.

"That'll work then," said Moody, opening both hands to indicate a solved problem. "I know him, of course. If he agrees… and the manor has a direct link to St. Mungo's, does it not?"

Minerva nodded. "My ex-husband works in the Department of Quidditch Injuries…"

"Healer McGonagall," Moody nodded. "I was wondering."

"Severus," said Minerva excitedly, "you're going to be able to go back to Hogwarts!"

"Possibly," replied her colleague, looking a little doubtful.

"Sooner than planned at least," Minerva retorted. "If Horace agrees to do another year… goodness knows how I'll get him to do it, but…"

"I am still astounded that you assume I will want to go back to being a Potions teacher," said Severus quietly, still sounding quite unconcerned.

"What…" Minerva was taken, once again, by surprise. "But I always thought… it was you who always said Hogwarts was your home and how you'd never leave if given the chance…"

"'Saying' being a matter of definition in a world where Pomona Sprout translates one's every word into witches' gossip," her colleague observed. The headmistress flicked him an apologetic grin.

"I do believe I heard this from your mouth, Severus."

"In any case," said the black-haired man, getting up from his seat again with the definite intention of emphasising his following words, "I did not say the idea of returning to Hogwarts was not tempting. I would merely like to remind you of the fact that my last position before the undue acquisition of the headmaster's post was, in fact, not that of a Potions Master."

Minerva needed a moment to understand this.

"Ah, Severus," she then said, "don't be ridiculous. You know as well as I do that the position is jinxed…"

"Not anymore," said Severus smartly.

"But you are a fabulous Potions teacher…"

"I would like to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Severus, just a little more pronounced, and then, just for good measure, "please."

Minerva sighed.

"We'll talk about this when it is actually due, shall we?" she said, rubbing her forehead and temples. "I'll have to go and ask my father if he would agree to give me the East Wing again. There will have to be some preparations… the manor is a highly secluded security space. You will need to realise… but I'll give you the details when we arrive. – If," she suddenly said, remembering that she had not properly asked her colleague's opinion on this, "well, if you agree to this solution, of course."

There was a small silence.

"My medical advice is to go," Moody remarked, quite unnecessarily.

"Will I be allowed to leave the place?"

"Only in company of a healer," Moody said sternly, "for safety reasons."

"What about practising spells?"

"You will have to continue your sessions, every three or four days – we can send over Toke, it should not be a problem…"

"…but will have to be scheduled with my father," Minerva added. Moody nodded. Severus looked displeased.

"Toke, yes?"

"There have to be sacrifices," Minerva smiled, considering whether or not to pat her colleague's back and deciding against it. "And you will have to continue practising, no matter where you are. These lessons seem to be very healthy for you."

"True," Severus admitted sourly. "Tedious though they might be. Very well then, I agree. If your parents will have me. I shall require some of my books, though."

"I will help you move your belongings as soon as I have spoken to them," Minerva offered. "In fact, if you allow me to do it alone, I shall be able to use magic."

"I was just about to say…" Moody mumbled.

"No!" said Severus quickly. "I shall fetch just a few books. No need for any kind of magic in that house. I assume one of the healers will have to join us, though?"

"A nurse will do," Moody said, throwing an entertained grin at her former teacher for the first time since they had met. "Would you like me to see if Toke is still free?"


	10. Spinner's End

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the delay in uploads. I am currently moving house and the refurbishing takes all day, which doesn't leave much time for going online at all, let alone writing. This chapter is a little longer than the previous ones, just to make up for the long wait.

* * *

**  
Spinner's End**

They arrived at Spinner's End early the next morning. Severus and Minerva had agreed to meet at nine, giving each enough time for a sparse breakfast. Minerva had spoken to her mother the previous evening, making sure that their plans were well received. The old lady (Mrs. McGillivray was approaching her ninety-fifth year now) had been glad to hear of her daughter and, as expected, agreed to have Severus as a guest.

"We refurbished the East Wing two months ago," she had been happy to inform her daughter. "And I shall advise Mawly to prepare everything for the young man's arrival. Will he need or prefer a particular room?"

"Personally, I would give him the downstairs one," Minerva had replied reminiscently. "He will appreciate the additional space for books in the shelves. And I'll take the one upstairs myself for a few days, just to be sure he finds his way around the manor – knows all the rules and such."

"I am sure he will like that," the answer had been. "It is very good of you to sacrifice your holidays for him. Mind you, you seem bestowed with enough free time to look after several patients, of course. How I would like to be a teacher these days…"

"I told you before that the length of the school holidays does not equal the length of a teacher's holidays, mother! There is additional work to do, you know, particularly at a boarding school like Hogwarts. Spells have to be renewed, lesson plans to be prepared, the common rooms refurbished, textbooks chosen…"

And one thing had led to the next.

A slightly tired headmistress of Hogwarts had apparated close to Severus's and her chosen destination early the next morning, having taken her usual tea and some white bread in a hurry before leaving her flat in the outskirts of Newcastle. As Severus had predicted, there were no Muggles in sight, but a single bench stood very close to the street, several yards from where she had appeared. Someone, Minerva noted, had built a back wall and little roof for it. She made a mental note to appreciate Muggle's thoughtfulness in future and sat down to wait for Severus, who, for safety reasons, was to arrive fifteen minutes later than her.

Minerva considered the landscape for a while. She was sitting at the edge of a village in an area, where a great number of working-class people had made a home, probably out of desperation rather than for a love of the landscape. As in many other areas of the country, long rows of houses lined the streets, all looking equally small and in dire need of refurbishment. The place appeared deserted, and Minerva knew that if anyone had seen her appear out of nowhere at the end of the street, they would have taken it for a trick of the light, which a rising sun was throwing onto a stubbornly remaining mist hanging between the houses and under the few now extinguished street lights.

Then, with a roar, a bus appeared at the end of the lane. It approached fast and eventually halted right in front of Minerva who had jumped up, a little alarmed. When the door opened, two familiar faces appeared. Minerva recognised them at once, even though Severus was wearing an old coat with Muggle wear underneath and Toke had taken off his healer's uniform and put on a blue jacket with red and golden stripes instead. Both looked vaguely ridiculous, Minerva found.

"Did you have a good journey?" she asked, shaking Severus's hand briefly and letting go again quickly, almost embarrassed at the touch.

"Entirely," her colleague replied, pointedly not looking at the young nurse, who was waving the bus off until it was out of sight. "If it weren't for being surrounded by children all the time…"

"But being a teacher you would be used to that, of course," Minerva observed. Severus's lips curled slightly.

"I suppose I would. Shall we?"

He turned and marched off, obviously expecting his two guests to follow. Minerva pondered for a moment if he disliked their presence and drew comfort from the thought that he was probably less pleased with having to spend his time with Toke. She suddenly realised that the young nurse was standing around rather awkwardly, obviously not sure how to react to his ward's sudden departure.

"Well, come on," she said quickly. "He'll lose us if he gets the chance."

Toke nodded, hesitated some more, and then, to his former teacher's great surprise, offered his arm for her to take. With an equally lengthy moment's consideration, she took it eventually. What Severus lacked in politeness, Toke displayed almost too much, despite his youth. Against her will, Minerva was impressed.

"You must excuse his behaviour," the young nurse said when the two of them took up speed to catch up with the Snape's swift pace. "We had to travel all the way from London. And these Muggle buses are murder."

"It must be a real hazard not being able to stand any kind of magic and thus being forced into an environment where the Act of Secrecy makes it impossible for you to use your own," mused Minerva quietly before they finally caught up with her colleague. Severus side-glanced, but pretended not to see them.

Having arrived in a narrow street at the edge of a forest, very close to an old mill, both professors suddenly became aware of the magnitude of what they had agreed to. Severus's face displayed clear discomfort now that Minerva was so close to entering his old home and his colleague suddenly realised how a man with this kind of background must react to her parents' 19th century manor with its castle-like North tower and the huge Western front and the richly decorated, double-doored Entrance Hall. With a certain interest, the deputy headmistress watched her colleague fumbling in his pocket before he finally produced a key, much smaller than any she had ever seen in use for wizarding buildings. It was flat and silver and had a zig-zag row instead of a flat metal bit at the end.

"What, no security spells?" she said surprised as the door slid open without complaint. Severus shrugged without turning.

"There are spells that are triggered if you try to open the door by magic," he said, sounding uncomfortable. "Most commonly used safety method in Muggle areas. For non-magical people a simple lock will usually do."

"Define simple," Minerva replied with a last glance at the strange item in her colleague's hands, and then stepped into the pitch-black inside of the house. Severus fumbled again, a little longer this time, and suddenly the room was ablaze with light. Minerva whirled around.

"NO MAGIC!" she shouted at Livius Toke, who had only now entered the room. The young nurse jumped and squealed.

"Don't startle him, or he will hit his head and it'll be up to us to clean the new carpet without the use of magic," Severus said grumpily, taking his hand off the light switch, and pushing his way through a few pieces of furniture towards a second door that seemed to lead further into the house.

"Severus, wait," Minerva said quickly, reminding herself that Muggles had obviously other means of achieving their ends than witches and wizards did and that Severus would know each of them perfectly well. "Have you considered that there might be magic other than your own in this house? How can you just walk in there without checking?"

"I happen to know what kinds of magic are to be found in my own house," Severus replied, as grumpily as before. "I have not had any wizarding guests for almost two years now and my mother, as you know, disliked its use under her own roof."

"I didn't know," Minerva mumbled, letting her finger slide over a mantelpiece, lost in thoughts. Toke sneezed the rising cloud of dust away.

"Sorry," he said quickly after regaining his power of uninterrupted speech, "Allergic reaction."

"You have come to the right place then," Severus muttered, taking the second door's handle as though having to convince himself to go inside. "Very well then, I'll tell you exactly what I plan to do. You two will wait here while I select the books that will accompany me on this journey. I shall be fine with just a few, seeing as all the others have some sort of author-induced magic on them anyway. You make yourselves comfortable and if anything happens, just scream."

His lips curled again and Minerva felt her own purse.

"I daresay the one person in any immediate danger here is you. Or else why would this young man waste his time to accompany us on this trip?"

"Ten minutes," replied Severus, without really replying at all, and vanished in the realms of his old home.

Minerva threw a curious look around the rectangular room in which she and Toke were to sit and wait for Severus's return. It was lined with book shelves. Only a small electric device, which she identified with certainty as a Muggle radio in the corner by the window hinted to the fact that Severus ever did anything apart from reading at all. But perhaps the item had been his father's. Minerva remembered that Severus had always avoided all links to his the Muggle side of his family. Up to the present day, she realised, she had never seen him wear Muggle clothing at all, despite his parentage, and if confronted with questions concerning electricity in lessons, he had tended to avoid giving the correct answer.

"I rarely get to visit Muggle places," she explained when Toke threw her a questioning look. "I used to do some outside work for the Order of the Phoenix when it became necessary, but Albus seemed to think it was not prudent to endanger both our lives when several hundred students were depending on a consistently run school every day… and I've never warmed up to Muggle wear, I must say."

She looked him up and down and the young man flashed her a grin.

"I chose as working-class and as old-fashioned as I could. Professor Snape was not particularly specific on what to wear, but I looked up the address and decided that eighties clothes would not be entirely out of the ordinary in this area."

"You certainly take your job seriously," Minerva mumbled, taking out her wand without thinking to conjure a tea tray.

"NO!" Toke yelled quickly and it took his former Transfiguration teacher nearly ten seconds before she understood what his excitement was all about.

"Oh dear," she then said, blushing, and putting her wand back into her pocket. "Goodness, it is so much of a habit!"

"That's what I'm here for," Toke replied, sounding calm again. "Professor, are you sure we should not accompany Professor Snape upstairs?"

"I have been wondering the same thing," Minerva said quietly. "But I think it is good for him to feel that he can do things alone again. The hospital was getting on to him."

"He is still very fragile," Toke warned.

"The only thing I am worried about is that he meets a Boggart up there or some other sort of magical creature," Minerva replied quietly, but the nurse shook his head.

"A Boggart's magic isn't strong enough by far to harm him. Wizarding magic, or perhaps goblin or House-Elf magic might do the trick, but Boggarts… nah."

"But he'll have no magic to defend himself," said Minerva stubbornly. "I think we should go and have a look…"

"He did manage to produce a respectable Shield Charm the other day," Toke remarked, looking just a little nervous now. "But if you think…"

The door opened again and Severus re-appeared.

"First stack," he said, putting a pile of about eight or nine fairly sizeable books in front of his colleague and her partner in conversation. "There isn't much more, but I'll need to have a look and see if there's any kind of emergency potions kit I could take. Just for practice, of course."

"Would you like Toke to accompany you?" Minerva said quickly. "We were just saying – you might encounter a Boggart or something equally unpleasant up there…"

Severus's gaunt face pulled into a disbelieving sneer.

"Minerva," he said slowly, indicating the furniture and decoration around him, "surely you have noticed by now that this is a _Muggle_ household, hard to grasp though this concept appears to be for you. There are no Boggarts or Doxies or House-Elves in non-magical households. There are not even portraits around here, moving or unmoving. In case you failed to notice."

And he vanished again, leaving his two guests to themselves again.

Minerva heaved a small sigh.

"Seriously!" she said suddenly when Toke started browsing the books Severus had just dumped in front of them. "Not very polite, young man."

"I am just interested," Toke replied. "No harm in that. Oh, look! This one's about Occlumency. You think he's into that kind of thing?"

"Professor Snape happens to be an accomplished Occlumens," Minerva replied sternly. "Now put it away, or I shall complain to your superior."

"Aw, Professor!" said the young man regretfully, but he put the books aside and contented himself with reading their spines.

"_Tojours Pur_ and other Wizarding Myths," he read. "Uhu… right…"

"It was me who gave him that one," Minerva informed him. "My father wrote it."

"Looks… interesting!" Toke said quickly.

"It concerns the pureblood families' misapprehension that the term 'pureblood' implies a Muggle-free lineage," Minerva explained, quite used to doubtful reactions to the topic. "My father is a practical historian. That means he _visited_ the people in question and _tested_ their magical ability. And believe me, he found Muggles less than five generations ago even in the centre of the most stubborn Black line."

The young nurse gave a polite nod. The topic did not seem to be of much interest to him and Minerva dropped it. It was no use. Some people were just hopelessly unpolitical.

"So…" she said, just to keep the conversation going, "you enjoy being a nurse, do you?"

"Yeah," said Toke tensely. "I do."

"Never thought of pursuing a healer's career?"

"Well," said Toke, "I haven't decided yet because according to the new regulations every healer has to undergo some training as a nurse as well, which means I still got time. Seems they wanted to counteract a certain arrogance towards the nurses' work in St. Mungo's. You know, many people are still very prejudiced against male nurses, for example."

"Things are on the move," Minerva noted. "I shall be interested to see where this development takes us. Have you made a decision concerning Severus, by the way? Are you going to continue your work with him?"

"I got the okay this morning," Toke replied, looking glum.

"Getting along well with him, are you?" Minerva said smilingly. "You know, I find your determination admirable."

"I think he appreciates my work," said Toke slowly. "But I have always felt that my enthusiasm was a bit lost on him."

"You got along well when you were still at Hogwarts, though, did you not?" Minerva enquired.

"Well, he's – he was my head of house," Toke replied hesitantly. "Of course I appreciated being automatically in his favour."

"Yes, we discussed this particular matter a couple of times…" Minerva sighed, but was interrupted by a pained squeal coming from the direction in which Severus had previously vanished. She jumped up.

"I _knew_ it!"

Toke rose as well, but Minerva pushed him back in his seat. "Just a Boggart, I presume," she said, "no need for you to worry, I'll handle this!"

And she stormed out of the room, not without Toke shouting after her, "But don't forget that you can't use any magic, Professor!"


	11. Unpleasant Guests

**Unpleasant Guests**

Minerva slammed the door and bent round the corner towards another one, which looked like the entrance to the cellar and had been left wide open. With stubborn determination, she opposed the instinct of drawing her wand even as, while she was heading down the stairs, the air around her began to assume an unpleasantly familiar coldness. The rattling sound of inhuman breath reached her ringing ears and she shuddered. With every step now, Minerva felt happiness draining away from her trembling body as though someone had attached leeches to every inch of her skin. The darkness became thicker and more persistent and soon she had to rely on her sense of touch only to make her way forwards, deeper and deeper into the all-consuming darkness.

The cellar was incredibly damp. Minerva's hands felt the handle of the staircase inch by inch, giving vague suggestions of the unknown surroundings. She was sure Severus had turned on the light, similar to the action he had performed upstairs only a few minutes ago, but not a trace of illumination was to be found around here now, not with _them_ hiding in the corners and under the staircase…

Minerva could suddenly hear the voice of her ex-husband next to her ear, clear as though he had apparated right behind her, and yet distant as though conjured from the deepest back of her brain: "Fine then, be that way! If you want to play the righteous feminist, by all means stay alone for the rest of your life! I'll have you know that no wizard of his right mind will want to put up with someone like you. NO ONE! Understand me? You'll die old and alone in your dump of a flat, unable to perform even the simplest of a wife's tasks…"

The fight had been horrible. They had both repeated things the pureblood society dictated. Not, in fact, saying what they actually meant. Still, Minerva felt all confidence draining from her with every step she took. Were they here? In the corners and in the old chest under the staircase leading upwards into safety and warmth? Were some of them already standing behind her, lifting their rotten hoods to expose a dreadful mouth…?

"SEVERUS!"

"Minerva…"

The feeble voice of her friend appeared a few steps ahead. He must be cowering in the darkest spot of the cellar, Minerva realised, surrounded by several of them.

"A Patronus, Severus!" she yelled. "Quick! It's just a couple of Dementors!"

"It d-doesn't work," his shaking voice replied, still out of sight. "My magic's gone, remember? I'm useless…"

"What rubbish is this?" Minerva shouted, cold dread creeping up again, making it appear as though the room was suddenly vibrating and full of noise. "You are a Potions professor, Legilimens, ex-Death Eater, Head of Slytherin… you thwarted You-Know-Who more than once without him even suspecting that you were anything but his most loyal servant! Will you be taken by a couple of Dementors?"

"Nothing," whined Severus, too far gone already to really take in any of her words. "I am nothing… I could do nothing to protect her when it was my fault that she died in the first place…"

"We had a war!" Minerva argued, perceiving that her voice had assumed a slightly exasperated note. "Of course there were sacrifices! But think of how many people's lives you _saved_!"

"Forgive me," whispered the black-haired man, now thoroughly sounding like the confused twenty-something-year-old he had been so many years ago when he had started taken up his position as the Hogwarts Potions professor. Severus seemed to have drowned in his own world, stammering unintelligibly sometimes, mentioning names Minerva could not say she had ever heard.

She caught the last thread of sanity inside herself and decided to trick him.

"A Patronus, _Mr. Snape_, or I shall put you in detention!"

There was a second's pause.

"_E-Expecto Patronum_," Severus's voice then said, higher than usual, causing a silvery mist to rise from the centre of the darkness in front of Minerva. Just for a second, she thought she saw the shape of a deer wind itself out of the silvery substance and assume a steady, corporate form, but then the Patronus drained away again and with it their only chance of escaping the situation. For a moment, it seemed as though the Dementors were sneering disdainfully at the pair of them, Minerva, still stubbornly resisting the urge to pull out her wand, and Severus, cowering on the floor, his own wand useless in his limp hand.

An increasing number of hooded creatures were now visible against the fading trace of light the Patronus had left before dissolving again. They stood in a circle around the two teachers, hardly moving at all and yet gradually closing in on what seemed easy prey. Minerva felt the hair at the back of her neck stand. This was it, was it? Severus would have been better off dying in the Shack than serving a group of starving Dementors as a feast.

Then, suddenly, there was light again. A huge bulb of silver seemed to have entered the room, filling every corner with a strong, silvery-white blaze. The bulb moved to the centre where Severus was sitting, making the black-haired man's eyes widen and his whole body shiver with what Minerva hoped was excitement over the sudden retreat of the robed figures around him. The bulb vibrated slightly and from one moment to the next sprouted a set of arms, one, two, three… a whole bunch of tentacles that were reaching out for the hooded intruders, seeming to squeeze some of them while pouncing others into the floor. Minerva realised that she was witnessing the work of an immensely strong squid Patronus, but could not for the world imagine where such a creature had suddenly come from. It did not merely drive the Dementors away, but pursued them until they dissolved into blazing light. Not a single of them escaped the massive tentacles, which wound here and there and filled the room with blind excitement and blazing light.

Then, suddenly, there was silence. The faint light of an electric bulb reappeared and the silvery mist vanished. Minerva looked around in confusion and discovered a shivering, thoroughly exhausted Toke standing at the top of the staircase. He was holding his wand in his left hand while trying to steady himself with the other.

"Quick," he whispered, his knees sagging, "get him to your parents' house!"

Minerva turned, panic rising, and saw that Severus had collapsed on the straw carpet. She considered for a second whether apparating to St. Mungo's would not be the better option, but Toke seemed to know that the stabilised surroundings of her father's home would do Severus's current condition a lot more good than the hustle and bustle of a magic-loaded hospital apparition area. And the manor had a direct link to St. Mungo's, of course, so that help could be instantly on its way.

Minerva grabbed her former colleague's body again without further musings, just as she had done in the Shrieking Shack some weeks prior to this. She felt for a pulse and signs of breathing, and against an entirely new instinct took out her wand to prepare for the journey to the entrance of her parents' premises.


	12. The Nurse Knows Best

**The Nurse Knows Best**

The air outside the manor was cold. For apparent reasons, one could never apparate inside the range of the time turner. Unlike premises like Hogwarts and Azkaban, which had simple anti-apparition spells working for them, McGillivray manor was not specifically protected against intruders. However, the fact that it had its own, independent place in time, so to speak, in order to allow her father to navigate freely through the various centuries he worked in prevented an exact determination of one's destination and thus interfered with one of the three 'D's that were so vital to the art of disappearing and reappearing at will. Chances were that you ended up in the middle of a 17th century war if you tried.

The other risk if you wanted to pay Hamish and Vesta McGillivray a visit was that by an unfortunate chance you might find nothing but empty grounds upon your arrival instead of a building. The reason for this was that, quite naturally, the couple had synchronised their time spent in earlier centuries with the time in which they were supposed to be living. If you did not synchronise, Minerva knew, and yet spent a lot of time outside your own, you might end up a hundred and fifty years old when your parents had barely reached pension age.

Minerva passed the barrier into the time turner's range, dragging Severus behind her. She realised with a jolt of panic that, no matter how well she knew the many paths leading uphill to the building's various entrances, she would never be able to carry the younger man's body all the way. She would have to risk using magic again.

Barely five minutes later, the front doors of the manor swung open and admitted the headmistress of Hogwarts inside, a former Potions Master's body floating directly behind her, not immediately appearing as though the renewed input of another person's magic caused any more harm than Toke's Patronus already had.

"MAWLY!"

The snout of an elderly, female creature with long, green ears appeared in the door almost promptly. Thankfully, not even House-Elves could apparate or disapparate on the grounds so that there was no risk of a renewed damage. Minerva felt very grateful nevertheless that the reliable creature had chanced to be close by and hastily pointed at her hovering colleague.

"I'll need a healer from St. Mungo's, Mawly. Preferably Moody, Lestrange, or Pye. All three of them have dealt with this before. Tell them Severus Snape has collapsed under the influence of a Patronus!"

Mawly nodded and vanished in the direction of the fireplace. Minerva turned in the opposite direction, entered the kitchen and brushed its table free with one hand before lowering Severus's lifeless body onto it with the other, wand-holding one. She then stowed the wand back in the inside pockets of her robes and took her colleague's head in her hands, searching desperately for a sign of life. What was it again a collapsed theurgic system caused? Surely you did not die of its complete breakdown, however fatal the consequences for your magical abilities might be…?

The door was pushed open by one of two healers who had now found their way through the manor's emergency fireplace that was linked with St. Mungo's. (Once again, Minerva thanked the heavens for her ex-husband's very useful profession.) Both of them were carrying a small bag and extremely worried looks on their faces. Lestrange looked and smelled as though he had been in the middle of his coffee break, while Moody appeared alert and entirely concentrated, as ever. The sight of two sets of lime-green robes finally close by caused the temporary headmistress to sway a little, torn between relief and a sudden realisation that the only thing she could do now was wait and see if her colleague would survive the renewed attack on his life.

"Get her out," Moody told Lestrange, bending over Severus's body while placing two fingers on the middle of his forehead as though feeling his pulse in the wrong place. "She will need something to calm her down."

Minerva followed the older healer out of the room, wordlessly, uncomfortably aware that she was not entirely in control of her behaviour. Lestrange made to lead her into the hallway again to take a seat on the staircase, but Minerva pointed at a small double-door at the other end of the room, behind which a hardly used living-room was situated, which provided armchairs and a small couch.

Another few minutes later (Minerva had only just begun to calm down under the influence of a few drops of potion that Lestrange had bullied her into taking) the doorbell rang again and Mawly appeared in the living room to announce the safe arrival of Livius Toke. Minerva had a sensation as though another knot was untying inside her stomach and got up quickly, ignoring Lestrange's protest.

"Is he up and well?"

"If you don't count black spots from falling all the way down the stairs after you left," Toke's voice came from the hallway and seconds later he appeared in sight, "I suppose I'm okay. Just a little overexcited. Never had to fight so many of them before."

"That was quite some Patronus," Minerva said warmly, motioning him to sit next to her on the couch. "Toke, I'll never know how to thank you for what you did down there."

"Aw, you know…" the young man replied, clearly not acquainted with the situation of being the hero of the day. "I brought the books," he then informed her, pointing at the pockets of his sweater. Minerva stared.

"Oh. Well, perhaps we should not put them back to their usual size just now, what with Severus so close by…"

"He is safe," Toke replied, a broad grin spreading on his freckled face. "That's what makes this place so awesome. I wouldn't believe it when Healer Moody told me, but you actually have a ninth degree time turner here, don't you?"

"That doesn't mean Severus is automatically well again!" Minerva said harshly, disturbed by his apparent calm. "He is still in immediate danger."

"His magic maybe," Toke shrugged, "but I doubt his life is. That's why I said you should take him here. The surroundings are stable enough to keep ten wizards or witches alive, even when their theurgic system fails. Can't you feel it? The air's healthier than anywhere else – well, that's what it feels like if the surroundings are so stable anyway. Didn't you say you've been here before?"

"I was born and raised in this house," said Minerva brusquely. "Obviously I would not be able to tell if there was something special to this place except for a couple of very fond memories, which I cherish up to the present day. I can assure you, however, that the healthiness you perceive might just as well be the Scottish sea air. We have a loch just round the corner."

"Well, I am sure that's a factor as well," Toke replied, sounding undecided. "Listen, Professor, I know I am not a healer… yet, and I know you might not want to hear my advice at all, but I wouldn't leave Professor Snape alone for a while now. We've seen that the world outside is still a little unstable… who would have thought there'd be Dementors in the basement…"

"It happens a lot these days, I am told," Minerva said tiredly, rubbing her forehead with both hands. "Everyone is so happy and content all the time that they are forced to flee to such places. They break into houses, which often provide access to people's least pleasant memories, making them easier to attack, and then hide in corners, waiting for the inhabitants to return. They feast on whatever happiness is being squirted out of their innocent victims. It is quite an old trick. I am told they used this method before You-Know-Who got them out of the closet and before the Ministry decided it would be an intelligent idea to re-train them as Azkaban's guards."

"What is happening to Azkaban now, by the way?" Toke enquired curiously. "Do you know? Where did all the prisoners go?"

"As far as I know," Minerva began slowly, "the Aurors reapplied most of the old charms on the prison walls. They also had some workers redo the destroyed cells, after which they took it upon themselves to devise a guarding schedule. What will probably happen is that they are going to revive the old wizarding army, at least for this specific purpose. But we'll know more when the plans for the restructuring of the Ministry are finally through. Kingsley is taking his time, I must say."

"The army?" Toke said, sounding astounded. "But the last wizarding officer ended his service around fifty years ago, did they not? They would be too old now…"

"There are some posts left on African territory even today," Minerva replied thoughtfully. "And, of course, some of our current Aurors are ex-army members. They'll be well in shape. I do believe there are a few of the old generals around even, although some of them are over a hundred years old now. One of them is a very good friend of mine and visits me quite frequently these days. Well, not as frequently as I would like, but at least once every three or four months."

Toke seemed lost in thoughts. He did not even notice when the door opened again and a tall, thin figure appeared in it, followed by a slightly worried-looking Moody.

"I see the nurse remembered to bring my books."

Severus's voice sounded a little unsteady, but Minerva could hear that the old sarcasm was already returning. By Merlin, he was alive! Her first impulse to jump up and pull her younger colleague into an embrace was fortunately and suitably repressed by an awareness of how many people would be witnessing such an embarrassing display.

"I cannot believe you are up again and criticising the young folk already," she said instead. "Did Healer Moody turn you into an Inferus?"

Toke gave her an appalled look.

"Might have been less unpleasant than what she actually did," said Severus with a cold side-glance at the young healer. "But let's not talk about my medical condition. I take it this is my new place of residence for the next few… weeks?"

"Months, more probably," Minerva muttered. "But yes, this is it. My parents seem to be unaware of our presence as yet – I'll tell Mawly to give them notice of our arrival in a minute. You'll have Toke's quick-mindedness to thank for that, by the way. I would have taken you straight back to St. Mungo's."

"The nurse knows best, I see," Severus replied coldly, not sparing a single look for his former student. "Admirable, of course. I expect I'll refrain from putting Toke in detention for the time being then."

The nurse's head snapped up. "Detention – w_hat_?!"

"Severus, I daresay the young man does not appreciate that you will insist on treating him like a student," Minerva said softly, flashing an apologetic smile in the direction of the young man, who had half risen at Severus's words, but seemed to change his mind when the House-Elf entered the room for the third time today to announce that Mr. And Mrs. McGillivray were on their way to take their tea in the kitchen. Minerva threw a distracted look at the grandfather's clock in the corner and nodded curtly.

"I suggest we tidy up a little over there as to prevent my mother from getting a heart attack. Is it safe to use magic?"

"It is," confirmed Moody. "I would suggest keeping it as low as possible, but the Professor should be fine with all common household spells for the time being. Only within…"

"…the range of the time turner," finished Minerva her sentence, "obviously."

There was a small silence.

"I'd say we should take our leave then," Moody said thinly after a small while, tired of waiting to be thanked. "There is nothing left for us to do. But we should like to hear if there are any noticeable changes in the Professor's ability to do magic. Toke will come over for magiotherapy every three days and I suggest regular check-ups. But we spoke about this, of course." She gave Severus a small nod, whose lips curled in meaningful silence.

Moments later, the house was clear of healers and nurses again. Minerva saw Toke leave with a pang of regret, but the young man looked as though he had work to do and the headmistress wished nothing less than to detain him for the sake of a mere cup of tea.


	13. A Family Meeting

**A Family Meeting**

Mrs. McGillivray had chosen an overall black, Victorian gown for the occasion. Nothing all too unusual for her since she had passed her midlife crisis, but Minerva felt unable to fight off the impression that she was trying to intimidate her guest by displaying the best of the best of pureblood snobbishness. For, of course, she knew well whom she had before her. A teacher, a Prince (if only from his mother's side), a half-blood, a convicted murderer. Minerva was almost sorry for having painted her colleague in such a bad light in the course of the last year, given that all she had said and vented about at the time she had now had to take back and convince her mother of the fact that Severus was, in fact, Dumbledore's most loyal follower, and had always been.

The former Potions Master appeared to take in the elderly couple's distinguished sight with supreme indifference, though his pale hand was clenched behind his back while the other shook Minerva's father's old and her mother's gloved ones.

The bearded historian smiled indulgently. He, Minerva knew, would judge Severus by the way the young man behaved towards him, not by anything else. It was a historian's habit. People changed, as did the times, and it was advisable to maintain a neutral position towards both until you got to know the current circumstances. His wife Vesta, on the other hand, was not trained in such a way and thus looked the former Potions Master up and down critically before she proceeded to conjure some tea, clearly expecting all of them to want some.

"So," she observed when they had all settled down around the kitchen table, each of them provided with a cup of the hostess's favourite tea, "you are my daughter's colleague then. The former head of Slytherin?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you are… _friends_ with my only daughter now. Given your unfortunate past, I daresay you find yourself very fortunate to have regained her trust."

"Indeed, ma'am."

Severus's grip tightened around his tea cup while the other hand was still pressed flatly against the surface of the Biedermeier table below it. Minerva suddenly realised that she ought to have told the young man exactly how much her parents knew so that he could prepare for possible attacks. To her great surprise, however, her mother seemed disinclined to dwell on the topic of Severus's identity much longer and instead began to address other matters, less comfortable, perhaps, even than this one.

"I spoke to dear Topaz the other day," she said softly, both elbows on the table before her, placing each of her long, thin fingers against its counterpart, one after the other. "He seemed to be under the impression that your dispute was settled. Did you two have a talk after all?"

"I met him by accident during one of my visits to Severus, mother," said Minerva tiredly. "And I am not going to discuss what we said because it really isn't any of your business."

"You did invite him for tea, though, did you not?" the old lady enquired. Minerva sighed.

"I wanted him to see Morgana. He rarely does, these days. And of course it was a good excuse for me to invite her as well. But if you spoke to him, you will be aware that he missed the opportunity."

"Yes, he said something about a conference."

"On a Sunday afternoon," Minerva said sourly. "Yes, likely."

"You must not be too harsh with him," her mother remarked. "I daresay he suffers from the situation as much as you do. And it is up to you to solve this –"

"I said," stated Minerva, just a little sharper than before, "that I was not going to discuss this now. But since we're talking about family, is Morgana around at all?"

"Aye," said Minerva's father now, opening his mouth for the first time since greeting them. Minerva gave him a warm smile.

"That's good, isn't it?" she said.

"Aye," said the old man again, smiling back at his daughter. He was always surrounded by a mysterious air of the aged and wise, but Minerva knew that white hair and few words tended to bring about such an effect. She would have to let Severus know that he needed to apply a certain caution when talking to the old man. Not because Hamish McGillivray tended to pour his wisdom into any unsuspecting visitor, but because he had been working in fifteen or sixteen different centuries within the past eighty years and had now reached a stage where he sometimes failed to realise which time he was currently in – or which kind of English to speak with his opposites.

"So… where is she now?" she enquired, not taking her eyes off her father, hoping to get a little more out of him than just one word at a time.

"A' work," said the old man.

Minerva raised her eyebrows in surprise. "She has a new job?"

"Foun' a Quidditch team," her father remarked and fell silent again. Minerva was impressed.

"She was quite eager to get to know our guest, however," said her mother crisply. "I am fairly certain she will drop by the East Wing later."

"We shall be prepared then," said Minerva, watching Severus stir his tea with a profound air of patience about him. "Severus," she said to allow him to rejoin the conversation," you'll need to know a few things about this house before I can let you explore the premises…"

The younger man looked up. Minerva pondered for a moment if his face read uneasiness, but then decided that he was probably just nervous and interested to hear what she had to say.

"The entire house," she thus explained, "travels through time on a frequent basis. I don't know if we are about to head off tonight – father?"

"No' tonight," said the historian, "Ah wis nae sure whether yeh'd stay."

"I am planning to," Minerva replied thoughtfully, "but I need to know the schedule because there is a conference tomorrow night."

"We'll return whenever yeh need tae get there," the old man said.

Severus watched him, seeming fascinated, perhaps by her father's goodwill, Minerva mused. She nodded.

"Thank you," she said warmly and turned back to Severus. "What was I going to say… oh, yes. Because of the time travel, it is vital that you always let father know if and when you are planning to leave. You'll need to do that anyway cause we'll have to organise a healer, but if you forget to tell anyone or if you are late… well… you might find that the house is gone upon your return."

"I doubt that I'll leave any time soon," Severus replied, looking glum.

"Well, just so you know," Minerva said distractedly. "You'll need to be aware of this in the long run."

"Please continue," Severus replied.

"It might also be that you encounter the occasional guest," the headmistress went on, "who doesn't speak our language or looks a little… unusual for this time."

"Visitors from other centuries, I assume?" Severus remarked. Minerva nodded, relieved that he was so quick on the uptake.

"Yes, exactly. If you happen to come across Olaf – well, I think he speaks our language fairly well, so that shouldn't be a problem, but if anyone addresses you in Anglo-Saxon or Old Norse, just greet them the way you would a foreigner and try to ignore them. Particularly when they have just ransacked the wine cellar."

"I… I shall do my best," Severus replied, looking a little disturbed.

"What else…" mumbled Minerva, unsure if there were any other important matters to discuss. But before she could think of any, the door to the kitchen was pushed open and someone roughly Severus's age bounced into the room, decorated with what looked like a green and silver Mohawk. It was a young woman, who looked slightly surprised at the kitchen being crammed with so many people at this time of the day. Minerva took a full five seconds before understanding who this was.

"_Morgana_!" she then exclaimed, realising what her daughter had done to her hair this time. "What on earth… you are over _forty_, for Merlin's sake!"

"Mu-uum," the younger witch replied, purposefully stretching the vowel in a child-like manner as to emphasise the stupidity of her mother's reprimand.

Severus's lips curled into a minuscule grin.

"And who are you?" Morgana asked, poking his shoulder as though they were the best of friends already. "Do I know you?"

"Morgana, this is my colleague Severus Snape, the former Head of Slytherin," said Minerva formally. "I do believe you know each other from school."

"No way!"

The green-haired woman rounded Severus as to look him in the face while he thought it prudent to rise from his seat. Minerva gave him an encouraging smile.

"Severus, you remember my daughter Morgana?"

"I am fairly sure we've met," the wizard replied, outstretching a hand for his opposite to shake. Morgana ignored it.

"Well, I am _entirely_ sure we've met!" she exclaimed, poking Severus's chest again, who frowned and retreated, an appalled look on his face. "But – wow! You have grown. You've changed. Well, not so much the hair, but…"

"_Morgana_!"

"Sorry, mum. I'm just saying… you are _a bunch_ different from when we were still at Hogwarts…"

"You, however, are not," observed Severus, settling down again. Morgana took the seat opposite him, not without placing two very precise kisses on the foreheads of her two grandparents. Hamish McGillivray looked amused, his wife disapproving.

"I cannot remember," said Minerva slowly, turning towards her daughter as to calm her constantly overloaded temper a little, "were you in the same year as Severus?"

"A year above," her daughter replied, not taking her eyes off their visitor, who looked back with a supreme coolness in his expression. "Remember the time you made me give him remedials in Flying?"

Minerva frowned. She did remember talking to her daughter about something related to Severus's school work, but could not for the world remember exactly what it had been. Severus seemed to dislike discussing the old days.

"So," he thus said to Morgana, changing the topic while his hands remained stubbornly on the table beside his tea cup, "where were _you_ during the war?"

"War?" The young woman appeared confused for a few seconds and threw a help-seeking look at her mother. "What w-… oh, you mean the Battle of Hogwarts?!"

"Among other things," Severus said, his lips thin and very pale.

"Ha! Well, I wasn't allowed to join," Morgana said self-confidently, throwing herself back in her chair. "You know, I would've come, but mum bound me to a chair when I told her I was gonna go out and fight the forces of evil."

"A chair?" Severus raised an eyebrow at his colleague, who blushed. "Indeed?"

"You would have done the same, if you had had a daughter intending to throw herself into battle, what with her having failed Transfiguration _and_ Defence Against the Dark Arts in her final exams!" Minerva said quickly, realising that she sounded defensive. When had the conversation turned to her educational methods? She always managed to avoid the topic when Topaz was around.

"I didn't mind too much," Morgana now said, shrugging the matter away with a little laugh. "Grandma found me soon enough. But the house was back in the Victorian age by then, so I missed the entire fun after all."

"Fun?" said Severus thinly. "You think _war_ is _fun_?"

"Well, nooo," replied his opposite, undecided, her North-Western heritage now very perceptible in her speech. "But I bet that Lord… thingy –"

"The _Dark_ Lord?" Severus helped.

"Yeah, that one," Morgana replied with an off-hand gesture. "Should have known. As though any _Bright_ Lord would ever try and go for world domination…"

"Whichever way you look at it, I can assure you that you will find nothing 'fun' about the Dark Lord whatsoever," Severus said, his black eyes narrowing. "How dare you act as though all that happened was just a big joke?"

"I'm _not_!" Morgana protested, now seriously trying to acquire a more solemn air. "I just… I would have liked to meet him. You know how these really powerful, obsessed would-be-rulers of the world usually have a cat in their arm, stroking it all the time? Well, I heard this one had a snake – a massive one, and…"

"Not a good topic, Morgana," Minerva said warningly.

"I'm just saying," her daughter said again, sounding a little insulted, like a child who would not be allowed to finish her sentence. "I would have liked to ask him a few questions. Like – since you're so obsessed about the pureblood lines and any drop of Muggle blood makes a wizard inhuman, what does that make you what with a Muggle father and an incestuously disfigured maternal line of the family?"

"Muirgan," said Minerva's father suddenly, "don't."

"Aw, granddad, I'm just taking the piss," the young woman replied, taking out her wand to conjure three sugar cubes to put into the cup, which her grandmother had diligently filled with tea during their conversation. "I wouldn't really go, of course. Know that real wars aren't fun. But it was you who told me that dark, evil overlords are not to be taken seriously..."

"That's nae quite what ah said," her grandfather replied with an indulgent smile.

"Well, but something along the lines," Morgana replied, emptying her cup in one go without stirring. "And anyway," she added, chewing, "I gotta be off again in a mo. Promised the lads I'd be there before sunset. We're going off to speed-zap a few Bowtruckles in the forest. You wanna come, Snape? I got a spare racing broom somewhere…"

"No, thank you," Severus replied, looking uncomfortable.

Minerva's lips thinned. "Off you go, Morgana," she said sternly. "We'll be happy to hear your recounts when you return tomorrow morning."

"Granddad?" Morgana enquired, as was habit when any of them left.

"Not before the day after tomorrow," Minerva's father replied earnestly, seeming more alert than he had throughout the entire conversation. Five or six in the morning then, though."

"I'll be sure to be there," Morgana replied cheerfully, kissing him on the cheek again, and bounced out of the kitchen waving an off-hand goodbye.

"Catch you all later! Bye, mum!"

"She got this from her father," Minerva mumbled unthinkingly, regretting the remark at an instant because her mother seized the chance to dive into a lengthy praise of the healer's most memorable traits. Luckily, the necessity of showing Severus to his room shortened the conversation by a considerable amount of valuable time.


	14. Morgana and Severus

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay in uploads lately. I find I really only have the time for writing fanfiction between terms. Particularly the loss of my USB stick has thrown me back somewhat. But I didn't abandon this and I haven't abandoned Oddball Faith, as some of you already know, and I honestly haven't given up planning Notes either, just yet, even though I am not updating or, indeed, adding much to it at the moment. Anyway, please enjoy this:

* * *

**Morgana and Severus**

Early the next morning, Minerva was woken by two voices, which penetrated her wooden bedroom door with uncomfortable perceptibility. She could not remember when she had last used the East Wing's guest quarters, but she was almost sure that no one else had stayed in this part of the manor at the time. Topaz had been there, of course, but she was fairly certain that _he_ would not have dared risking to interrupt her well-deserved sleep by prancing in front of her door and talking at the top of his voice.

Unsurprisingly, this time's culprit was, in fact, Minerva's own flesh and blood. The disturbance consisted of her daughter Morgana, who seemed to be standing directly in front of the door, apparently unaware that her mother had moved from her own, fully furnished bedroom to this corridor. She made scratching noises every now and then, and knocked once or twice, seemingly without intention.

"I did recognise you, of course," her muffled voice came through the door, signalling that her head was turned away from it. Minerva had not yet even mustered the strength to open her eyes.

"Commendable," Severus's voice replied, as void of emotion as ever. "Not many people do."

"Well, there are changes," said Morgana cockily, moving away from the door, probably towards her partner in conversation. "And most people would remember you as the undernourished stick-figure, ready to run away from the smallest confrontation, rather than a teacher in billowing robes."

"You are mistaken," Severus replied coldly. "Most people do, in fact, know me as a teacher these days."

"Surprising," said Morgana, sounding thoroughly unconcerned. "Although I can sort of see it. You, in the dungeons, surrounded by lots of mysterious substances... I bet the Potions Master's office is still as full of slimy things in jars as it used to be."

"If you are referring to Slughorn's personal collection of magical rarities," said Severus patiently, "I can confirm your assumption. Most of these items are worth hundreds of Galleons, by the way, so you might want to find a better collective term for them."

"Whatever," Morgana said, probably shrugging, as she so often did.

"You are not much into Potions?" Severus enquired politely.

Morgana laughed at him for a full minute.

"Me! Into Potions?" she finally managed. "You know, any other subject, but... Surely even you know that there's hardly a subject with a worse reputation!"

"Or used to be," Severus said sourly. "People started taking the subject a little more seriously when St. Mungo's started naming it as a NEWT requirement for aspiring healers."

"Is it true that healers also have to undergo some nurse's training now?" Morgana suddenly asked curiously. "I heard the Ministry is aiming to undermine the magi-medical pecking order."

The Snape was able to confirm this. "I am, in fact, doing magiotherapy with a person who, I believe aspires to be a healer in the long run."

"Oooh, who?"

Something told Minerva that her daughter was almost sure to know Livius Toke, even though she had left school long before the young nurse had even entered. Her instinct proved correct. When Severus told his opposite who his stoic medical helper was, Morgana produced a squeak of delight.

"Livius!" she exclaimed. "And you think _he's_ gonna try to be a healer? Seriously? The mere idea..."

"You know him?" interrupted the Snape, sounding disbelieving.

"I've met him a couple of times," was Morgana's off-hand reply. "After Quidditch games. He used to live in Hogsmeade, you know. Right across the Three Broomsticks, in fact, where my team used to stay for the night and celebrate – or not. Anyway, if ever there was a person who doesn't qualify for theoretical work, it's Livius Toke. He is totally a people person. Know what I mean? Cuddles everyone in reach. He even hugs our Keeper for a greeting. And that's saying something, seeing as she's the grumpiest person on the planet. Could almost be a Snape, judging from her general..."

"His Potions work has always spoken in favour of an academic career," Severus interrupted sourly. It was clear that Morgana's flood of words was tiring him and equally clear that he was not entirely sure how to stop it. Minerva was almost certain that this was a situation where, if they had been at Hogwarts, Severus would have retreated to his office or into his quarters to busy his mind with something worthwhile.

"I'm telling you, he's a nurse," Morgana stubbornly went on. "Did he say he was going to be a healer?"

"Your mother seemed to mention something along the lines."

"Well, he probably said it to impress her," Morgana mused. "But I'm telling you, the Boy Who Lived would sooner die than Toke voluntarily change his career from nurse to healer."

There was a small break.

"Interesting... proverb," Severus then remarked, his voice not betraying his thoughts. "Is it new?"

"Not very," Morgana said lazily. "But don't think I don't know that you dislike that guy. Mum keeps going on about how you can't get over your petty little fights with Potter and Black at the time. James Potter, that is."

"Does she, now...?" Severus mumbled, causing Minerva to bury her face in the pillow. There were instances, if only a few of them each decade, where the wish never to have had a daughter was not very easily suppressed.

"She also says they all changed a lot," Morgana continued, as unconcernedly open as ever. "And so did you. She has mentioned you quite frequently, particularly during the last year, you know. But I suppose that was because you killed her best friend, went off with the bad guys... what are they called again?... oh yes, the Death Eaters, and then came back to introduce two known torturers to the faculty."

"Ah..." began Severus, apparently thinking that this statement warranted a defence, but Morgana already plunged on.

"Well, but things changed, of course," she said cheekily, producing more scratching noises. "Like, everything. They changed, you changed... Even part Muggles grow out of their nasty, adolescent habits, I suppose."

A small pause followed, in which Minerva sat up in her four-poster, rubbed her eyes in exasperation, and then pushed her blanket aside to get up and issue a reprimand. Suddenly, however, Severus spoke again and she stopped in mid-movement, deciding against all modesty to halt and eavesdrop. The young man's voice sounded cynic and contempt was edged in every of his words.

"This being the only bit of information you remember from Muggle Studies, I presume?"

"Pretty much. I never needed to actually learn about Muggles," Morgana replied proudly, apparently unaware that her mentioning of Severus's blood status might have been seen as an affront. "Was friends with half the Muggleborns in the whole school, after all. But classes were dead fun anyway. Professor Burbage knows all kinds of things, like... about Muggles taking all sorts of stupid subjects for their OWLs. Lots of stuff no one really needs, including non-magical – what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Severus said quickly, his voice suddenly marginally defiant. Minerva realised that he must have dropped his defences before Morgana had enquired about her dead teacher's well-being. Or maybe it was more difficult to muster a certain amount of self-control when you suddenly found yourself bereft of parts of your Occlumency skills.

"She is dead," Severus now informed the young woman. "As so many, she died during the war."

This, at long last, silenced Morgana.

"I am very sorry," said the former Potions master, clearly relying on the fact that his partner in conversation had no idea about the degree of his involvement. Minerva wondered, just for a moment, whether he enjoyed this discrepancy of knowledge, but the tone in his voice told a different story. "I believe it was painless."

There were new scratches and some sniffing. A nose was being blown. Minerva put her face in her hands and rubbed her forehead with growing unease. Morgana would have to suffer continuing blows if she heard who else had died in the war. Her mother distinctly remembered that she had been friends with half the inmates of Gryffindor house by the time she had left school to go into professional sports. And no one had, as yet, had the heart (or the guts, she reflected) to tell Morgana all the details of what had happened during the final battle.

"Oh," managed the young witch eventually, her voice heavy with tears. "That's... that... I liked her. Many people did, I think."

"She was one of the Dark Lord's main targets after the publication of _Muggles are Just the Same as You and I_," Severus said quietly. His voice seemed fairly steady again, but Minerva perceived a certain reluctance, too, concerning the decision how to deal with the situation at hand.

She decided to get dressed.

"Would you prefer to be alone?" Severus suddenly said, clearly deciding that something had to be done about the increasing degree of discomfort. Morgana seemed to decline, as neither of them moved for another few minutes while Minerva put one foot out of bed in search for her pair of green slippers. Having located them, she stretched again and rose at a snail's pace, slouching towards her wardrobe in search for a set of robes appropriate for this evening's conference.

It was not long before the noise outside reappeared. The sound of a door banging told Minerva that Morgana was going to use the bathroom while Severus did not seem to leave the corridor to go downstairs, as she had assumed he would. There was no further sound from outside, telling Minerva that Severus had not moved a single step away from where he had been standing – probably not far from the staircase, probably right next to the old portrait of Minerva's great-grandmother Perenelle McPhail. Perhaps, she mused, he had lingered for want of anything to do. She suddenly remembered how much she hated having to help herself to breakfast in other people's homes and hurried to get dressed so as to shorten his waiting time, but suddenly the bathroom door opened again and Morgana re-assumed her role as Severus's personal entertainer.

"What are you hanging around for?" she asked, perceptibly more light-hearted than before, or trying to be. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Not very," admitted the former Potions Master "But I shall join you, if you are going to go downstairs."

"You know," said Morgana, "you've gone really polite and quiet. It's very mysterious."

"A necessary requirement for obtaining your mother's friendship, I am told," Severus replied and Minerva frowned at her closed bedroom door.

"Yes," said Morgana quietly. "And honesty."

"Unsurprisingly," said Severus, but refrained from delving any further into the subject.

Minerva realised that she had dressed in the entirely wrong set of robes, cursed inwardly, and began a fervent search for her black ones.

"Why were you in hospital?" Morgana suddenly asked. "Grandma said that you had some kind of near fatal injury?"

The Snape confirmed this.

"Sounds crap," Morgana stated. "What kind?"

There was a moment's hesitation, in which Severus seemed to consider how much to let on and in which Minerva remained entirely motionless in front of her massive wardrobe. How much did she want her daughter to know?

"A snake bite," said Severus eventually, his voice quiet and entirely steady. "A special breed, the size of a contractor snake, but with the means of preventing your blood from congealing after one bite. It's in possession of fairly sizeable fangs for that purpose."

Morgana made a little sound of what Minerva liked to think was surprise, not awe. "Lord Thingy's little pet thing?"

Severus produced something that sounded very much like an exasperated sigh.

"Boy, I'd have liked to see that man," Morgana mumbled. "Must have been completely insane."

"They say he was de-humanised," explained Severus slowly. "It happens when you start meddling with matters of life and death..."

It was at this point that Minerva decided to intervene. Giving Severus the chance to recount his personal war stories was one thing, telling Morgana about the existence of Horcruxes quite another. She hastily did the last few buttons and left her room, taking both partners in conversation by surprise before all three of them eventually went downstairs for some breakfast, or a cup of tea at least.


	15. Pleasant and Unpleasant Duties

**Pleasant and Unpleasant Duties**

Only a little later, Morgana, Minerva, and their half-blooded guest were sitting around the kitchen table once more, each with a drink and, in Morgana's case, a huge sandwich in front of them. Mawly was bustling around and Minerva was fidgeting, unsure how to start a conversation with two so fundamentally different people like her daughter and her former colleague.

"I could show you around a little, if you like," she told Severus after several minutes' awkward silence. "You might be interested to hear that we have a library, among other things, although I am not sure you should delve into the magically infested half of our literary collection as yet. Not without consulting the healers at least."

"How interesting," Severus replied politely, pointedly avoiding Morgana's gaze. He had been nothing but polite since his arrival and Minerva assumed that this suggested great tension underneath his perfectly assembled appearance. Severus had never been one for social situations, she remembered.

"Do you... like the manor so far?" she enquired anxiously.

"Oh, Mum!" Morgana intervened, chewing. "Don't try and make small talk, please. Of course he'll say 'yes' and 'splendid' and you'll tell him how pleased you are and what then? Are we all going to be silent again, or what?"

"Sometimes," said Minerva slowly, frowning pointedly at her daughter, "a little politeness can liven up a conversation. Or get it on its way."

"Fine," replied Morgana, still munching her chosen breakfast. "I'm going to ask a polite question that's a little more interesting then, shall I?" She turned to Severus. "What exactly happened that landed you in hospital?"

"I shouldn't think we are discussing such matters at the breakfast table, Morgana," Minerva cut in, dissatisfied with her daughter's blatant lack of discretion on the one hand and her own automatic assumption of old, authoritarian habits as soon as a situation such as this one came to pass.

"Come on," insisted Morgana. "I need to hear that story! Was it accompanied by an awesome bit of bravery? Or just someone stepping on a massive, green tail?"

There was a small silence. Severus's side-glance at Minerva as if seeking advice and she shrugged, indicating that the choice lay with him. He turned back to Morgana and regarded her for a while, unblinking and unsmiling, stroking his lower lip slowly with one finger.

"The Dark Lord seemed to be under the impression that I was in his way towards power," he said slowly, pointedly, as though weighing every word. "For reasons too complicated to explain and too foolish to think about, he refrained from using the killing curse on me, however, and instead advised his pet snake to feast on me. Only that he left the scene of crime before Nagini could finish her meal."

"That's careless," observed Morgana. "You might have got away."

"I might have," confirmed Severus with an earnest nod. Minerva was tempted to bury her face in her hands, but refrained.

"We should be grateful that you did," she said sternly, willing to bring some seriousness back into the conversation. "We cannot know, otherwise, what would have happened."

"One less person on this table?" suggested Morgana.

"I rather doubt it," Severus contributed. "If the snake had been unsuccessful, I expect the Dark Lord would have had to think of another killing method, by which time I would have disapparated."

"Disapparated?" Morgana said, disbelief edged in every syllable. "You had the option of disapparating? Meaning you weren't at Hogwarts at the time?"

"No," said Minerva. "I found him in the Shrieking Shack. Did I not mention that?"

"The Dark Lord saw fit to observe the last battle's proceedings from a safety distance," Severus explained. "He made a home in the Shrieking Shack for a certain amount of time, from where he conducted his allies."

Morgana was not so easily distracted. "So... why didn't you disapparate in the first place?" she asked, entirely forgetting to eat.

Minerva gave her former colleague a curious look. "You know, Severus, that is a fair question."

"Yes," mumbled the black-haired man, stirring his tea with profound care. "It is indeed. I expect it has to do with an instinctive sense of loyalty. You wouldn't understand..."

There was no reply from either of the two women. For once, a perfect chance of bashing each other's house and its stereotypical qualities went by untouched. It was clear to all three partners in conversation that there had to be something to the loyalty that most Slytherin Death Eaters had displayed towards their chosen master during the war. A quality that was usually praised in Hufflepuffs and, occasionally, Gryffindors, had turned against the wizarding community, making it vulnerable to the most dangerous extent. Minerva pondered over these thoughts for a while, as so often when the topic of the other side's motivations lingered in the room, but as usual came to no satisfying conclusion.

A little later, after showing Severus the Northern part of the manor and its massive library (as well as her uncle's fully stocked potions laboratory in the basement) the two former colleagues were standing in the East Wing's small living room in front of the fireplace - Severus carrying a heap of books he had found upstairs and taken an interest in, Minerva with a handful of floo powder.

"I shall be back before midnight," she told him, initiating a goodbye. "At the latest, however, before the manor leaves the present. We are heading towards the Elizabethan era this time, I am told, but that is of no consequence for you."

"I see," Severus replied tensely, clutching his books. "Have... a safe journey."

"Severus," said Minerva earnestly, feeling a little tense all of a sudden, "I must tell you that it is very likely they will choose someone else to fill the headmaster's position tonight. Is there anything you will want or need from Albus's former office? We spoke about the Pensieve, of course..."

"Is it possible for you to bring it here?" Severus said hurriedly. "Without drawing attention to it?"

"I believe so. I shall certainly try."

"The new headmaster will probably not be acquainted with practices such as applicable mind-control," Severus added stiffly. "He will very likely not be able to make use of a Pensieve anyway."

There it was again – the automatic assumption that Dumbledore's successor would be a wizard, never a witch. Minerva felt her hand tighten around the floo powder, but politely avoided the subject.

"You know," she said instead, hoping to sound conversational, "I never liked the idea of a person being able to see other people's thoughts, but I do envy you for being able to use a Pensieve. It must be good to relieve yourself of your own thoughts every once in a while."

"It is quite useful sometimes," Severus confirmed and they parted, agreeing to meet again the following morning.

This time, Minerva found herself exiting through an entirely unexpected fireplace. Having missed the one in Dumbledore's old office once again, she had proceeded towards the lower levels and got out through the staff room exit, which was always lit in politically unproblematic times when the castles access to the floo network was not restricted to a few teachers' offices.

Minerva brushed some dust off her robes (deeply black, laced ones with an old-fashioned touch to them) and made to leave. When she reached the room's only door, however, she bumped into the scrubby figure of Argus Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker, who looked startled and moved aside only after a moment's instinctive grumbling.

"It is good to see a living soul inside these walls during the holidays," Minerva told him, politely making conversation after what she felt had been weeks of frosty silence.

"I'm _sure_," he replied nastily, opening a cupboard on the left hand side of the entrance to obtain a broomstick for cleaning purposes, obviously. Minerva stopped in her track, taken aback by the tone in his voice, and turned. Argus had proved difficult in numerous situations beforehand. His general disregard for the fact that times did, in fact, change and his deep envy of every person in possession of magical skills made him an unpleasant person to be around, even though it was often easy to appreciate his motives.

There was, however, another problem, which Minerva had been observing with increasing worry. Argus Filch was unable to adapt to the situation of Hogwarts having a headmistress instead of a headmaster. Whenever a witch inhabited the circular office, or even pretended to, as in the case of Dolores Umbridge at her time, the caretaker showed a striking inability to stay in line and just do his job as was expected of him. He either went out of his way to persuade his new superior to change the school rules this way or that, or, as in the case of Minerva, disregarded her orders to a point where other people might have put him out of office. The current tone in his voice was a striking example of this attitude.

"You seem in a bit of a bad mood," the headmistress thus said crisply, willing herself to believe that the man had merely had a bad day. "I do not imagine you miss our students already?"

"No," said the caretaker simply, and then, for good measure, "decidedly not."

Minerva considered for a moment whether to continue the conversation or to proceed and see if the stone gargoyle in front of the head's office still had problems remembering the current hierarchy, but then decided that she would have to have this conversation sooner or later and that now at least she was still in a position to threaten the caretaker with a cut of his wages if he dared openly defy her.

"Mr Filch," she said sternly, "I am observing not without worry that your attitude towards under-age witches and wizards has not changed much during the last few... well... decades, really. Surely, Professor Dumbledore has already impressed upon you the fact that personal vendettas have no place whatsoever in the everyday life of..."

"He did," interrupted Filch in a grumpy sort of voice. "But he definitely did not mention that fighting life or death battles was going to be part of a caretaker's duties."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Minerva snapped. "Hogwarts has been under attack before. How many years have you been with us now?"

"Fifty-three," said the caretaker sourly. "I came with Hagrid."

"I remember Albus mentioning it," Minerva mused, who had been astounded to hear that Headmaster Dippett did not share certain governors' prejudice and had invited a squib for a job interview over Filch's current position. She seemed to remember that the old man, who had been teaching Transfiguration at the time, had been very impressed by his superior's decision. Indeed, now that she came to think of it, Minerva recalled that her idea to apply for a teaching position jat Hogwarts some eleven years later had probably originated in that very conversation and that she might not have developed an interest in the field at all, had it not been for Albus's warm recounts of the old headmaster's principles.

"And that's all that is vexing you?" she said disbelievingly. "The additional cleaning duties after the battle?"

Filch grumbled something in reply, but Minerva was sure he did not intend for her to understand any of it, other than his general discontentment. Her last bit of patience evaporated in a huff of sudden anger.

"Out with it, man!" she spat. "If you have any complaints about your job, you might as well be man's enough to look your superior in the eye and voice them!"

"Well, then, _headmistress_," scoffed Filch, putting a contemptuous stress on the last word, "one of my problems for the last few months has been you. Where to start? I am sick of you calling me ridiculous or dim-witted or a fool for one. If you are prejudiced against people like me, well, that can't be helped. But as a headmistress, I would have expected you to keep your personal opinions for yourself while there are students around at least."

Minerva stared. "But... Mr. Filch," she began, "whatever gives you the idea that I have any kind of reservation towards... people in your unfortunate position?"

"The fact that you call it 'an unfortunate position' for one," Filch replied darkly. "Professor, I don't want to be a nuisance. And that's what you seem to see me as. I was actually going to hand in my resignation this afternoon. My work clearly isn't valued around here as it used to be under the old headmaster."

"Filch, no..." Minerva was speechless. This, on top of everything, on top of her constant worry about the future of the school and her own academic career... this on top of Severus and the need to convey a sense of security to Morgana, her post-pubescent daughter...

"You think I am a fool," Filch now said, noticing her unease with growing satisfaction, it seemed. "That says it all."

"I do not... Filch, if you gained the impression that..." Minerva moved her hands in awkward circles, suddenly unable to express all the thoughts that whiled through her mind all at once. "I am... I am sorry for calling you a fool -"

"Blethering fool," Filch corrected. Minerva dropped her hands in exasperated resignation.

"Yes, yes, I understand that I was being extremely impolite," she said weakly. "And I would like to apologise for it. You do understand, of course, that what with the school being attacked and our students facing a one-to-one battle with a herd of Death Eaters and giants..."

"You were under a lot of pressure," said the caretaker gruffly. "I understand that."

There was a small pause. Against her will, Minerva was surprised.

"You... you do?"

"Yes," said Filch flatly. "Has to be a horrible position, doesn't it? All the excitement, the sudden weight of responsibility... Professor Dumbledore always said that the burden of being headmaster was not about creating a list of school rules, but lay in finding a way of killing the institution's enemies."

Minerva threw him a blank look. "But surely he was referring to members of the Ministry... political killings, not actual war..."

"I don't know what he meant," Filch replied. "But I wager being headmaster isn't something just anyone could do. That's all I'm saying."

"Why, I suppose I thank you for your concern," Minerva replied, still unsure how to react to the caretaker's sudden openness. "And I am... sure we shall be able to work out our differences."

It was only some time later, when she was already standing in the headmaster's office that she realised just how much more distrust in her abilities than concern for her situation Filch's view had actually displayed.


	16. The Multicoloured Quill

**The Multicoloured Quill**

The conference was to take place at Hogwarts in one of the disused classrooms on ground level, close to the Great Hall, into which visitors to the school liked to peer briefly, reliving old memories that usually involved lots of food and a singing hat.

Minerva positioned twenty-two chairs around a sufficiently large table, which were to accommodate the twelve governors (if, indeed, all of them were going to appear), a few members of the Ministry, including Kingsley Shacklebolt, the newly elected Minister for Magic, as well as the heads of all four Hogwarts houses and a number of candidates hoping to be elected as Dumbledore's (or, she thought, technically_Severus's_) successor. Uncomfortably aware that she did not officially belong to this last group, Minerva distributed a few candleholders here and there and then proceeded to spread some ghost repellent on the room's stone walls. The last thing tonight's assembly needed was a group of undead visitors, famously unable or, indeed, unwilling to keep their transparent noses out of official organisational busines.

When everything was prepared, Minerva went upstairs one last time to fetch the Pensieve and store it in a bag she had brought specifically for this purpose. Because of its magical properties, a Pensieve could not be reduced in size for transportation purposes, but the bag Minerva had selected could be jinxed to appear smaller than it actually was. She also relieved the circular office's shelves of a few items she had brought with her and stored in here after Severus had left. It was only at a side-glance that she noticed a magnificently coloured quill close to the place where Fawkes, the phoenix, had always taken residence, as well as something that looked like a spare bit of old parchment. She stared at the two items for a full minute before deciding to pick them up.

"Now, what is this?" she asked, not specifically addressing Dumbledore's portrait, but well aware that an answer might be expected from the late headmaster's painted representation among the living. The portrait took its time. Only when Minerva spread the parchment on the broad surface of the room's only desk and settled down to dip the quill into an open inkwell did painted Dumbledore's voice suddenly appear.

"No ink needed, Minerva."

The headmistress turned, curiosity edged in every corner of her aging face.

"Ah?" she said, waiting for him to continue.

"Try it," Dumbledore replied, looking very old and very wise indeed. Minerva frowned and put the quill on the parchment.

She drew a line. The quill seemed to move almost on its own accord. It jumped, at places, and drew what looked like individual lines leading away from the one Minerva had first produced. It was not hard to recognise what this quill was used to drawing.

"A map," whispered the black-haired witch appreciatively. "A... magical map?"

"Magical indeed," chuckled the portrait. "The Multicoloured Quill is specifically designed to create a very special kind of map. I obtained it from Filch a few decades ago, who never realised, of course, just how valuable an item he had confiscated. I believe one of our students must have created it."

Minerva decided to add a few more lines and then some dots. She jumped back almost instantly.

"Albus," she breathed, "they are moving. They're... they're labelled. Is this supposed to happen?"

"It is just a very accurate map," the portrait remarked. "What do the labels say?"

Minerva squinted.

"Vo-... Va-... Vesta! Vesta McGillivray! It's my mother!"

"Naturally, naturally," muttered the portrait, still chuckling into its painted beard. "The quill likes to go on adventures. It prefers to draw settings it hasn't yet encountered and you will only be able to draw places, which you know exceptionally well, such as your birthplace or, perhaps, Hogwarts. But even I have never been able to convince this quill to draw me a full map of the Hogwarts grounds. It is a pity, really. Might have come in handy..."

Minerva added line after line and watched, to her astonishment, that much of the map quite readily drew itself once she had started imagining the individual parts of her parents' manor. One dot labelled "Severus Snape" appeared in the general vicinity of what she presumed was the East Wing's kitchen and, unsurprisingly perhaps, one labelled "Morgana McGonagall" was approaching him.

"You may keep the quill," said the portrait. "I do not suppose my successor will have much use for it. He will likely not even recognise its special powers."

Minerva's heart sank.

"So you, too, do not even consider the possibility that people might vote for me to stay in office?" she asked weakly. The portrait gave her a warm smile, but did not reply.

In the meantime, the dot labelled "Morgana McGonagall" had reached its goal near Severus, who moved away and into the living room after only a few minutes' motionless astonishment. Minerva took no notice. Her gaze was directed at the portrait, unwillingness and anger welling up inside her the longer she thought about the fact that the headmaster at least might have intended for her to take his former position, instead of some unknown stranger.

"I have devoted my life to this school and its students," she pressed on when the painted headmaster took out a tiny bag of painted sweets and lowered himself in an armchair several steps behind his usual place. "Surely you realise that it would be a very good idea if Hogwarts remained in the hands of someone running it in your spirit?"

"I suppose," the portrait replied vaguely.

Minerva clenched her fists. "Don't play all undecided with me, Albus! I am WELL aware that even your portrait will have an opinion on such matters, seeing as it is usually the most prominent character traits that are transferred into a wizarding painting. If the artist didn't include your tendency to meddle in affairs that are really none of your business, I'll consider it a job badly done!"

"You amuse me, Minerva," said the painted Dumbledore softly. "And I have great respect for your talents. As you know."

"But still, you won't even consider me running this school in your spirit," Minerva snapped..

"I did not know your ambitions were such," the headmaster prompted.

Minerva took a deep breath. "I didn't..." she began, stopping to reconsider. "I wasn't..." It was no use. Of course there was truth to what he had said. Another of her late friend's more prominent character traits. "Well, I admit I haven't thought much about it until quite recently," she said angrily. "But as everyone, including you and some of my oldest colleagues, seem unprepared to even consider the possibility that I might be interested, I have, well... come to think of the question of why they don't... and why I shouldn't."

"That is true Gryffindor spirit," the headmaster remarked with another chuckle. Minerva was tempted to throw something at him, but realised that it was no use.

"You'll see," she growled, snatching both, quill and map from the desk (Severus had just left another room just after Morgana had entered it) and stuffed them into her bag that already contained the Pensieve. "Do you mind Severus inheriting your Pensieve?" she asked, just for good measure, resolving that if he did, she would take it anyway. Dumbledore shook his head.

"Not at all," he said, beaming all over his wrinkled face. "He will make good use of it, I hope."

Minerva slammed the office door behind her. When proceeding downstairs, towards the conference room, she perceived fist traces of people's voices when she passed the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. Several of the governors were already gathered in the Entrance Hall, chatting excitedly to one another or, in some cases, surveying their surroundings with looks of unmistakable nostalgia on their faces. Eight out of ten wizarding children attended Hogwarts for five years during their youth, Minerva knew, and six of them continued on NEWT level.

Andromeda Tonks, who had been vice chairwitch of the board of governors for the last four years, was carrying a bundle in her arms, which Minerva presumed was her newly orphaned grandson Teddy Lupin. The middle-aged woman's expression was earnest and calculating, which made her look astonishingly and somewhat frighteningly like her older sister Bellatrix, whose remains had been buried at one of the oldest wizarding graveyards near Godric's Hollow on her parents' request. Next to Andromeda, a young woman was talking to Arthur Weasley in a hushed voice. She, Minerva knew, had little reason to watch her surroundings all too closely. Hermione Granger had attended Hogwarts until quite recently and was now in the middle of revising for a NEWTs exam resit, which Minerva had scheduled to take place at the end of the new year's first term, just in time for all participants to apply for their first jobs by the end of the Christmas break. Having excelled in all previous exams and lessons, the young Muggleborn had greeted this opportunity with some enthusiasm, of course.

"...almost all of them, indeed," Minerva now heard a voice to her right. At the bottom of the staircase, Horace Slughorn was engaged in conversation with his colleague Pomona Sprout, who was in her usual good mood and apparently in the middle of counting those present with one bouncing, pudgy finger.

"There's only two missing," she then said and, at the same time, discovered Minerva standing only a few feet away from them. "Minerva, thank Merlin! I was worried that you wouldn't be able to make it," she said, sounding genuinely relieved. "Everything all right at home? You look a little unsettled."

Minerva descended the last remaining stairs and shook Horace's broad hand while nodding at a few other faces. The then turned to her best friend and colleague with a small, well-meant sigh.

"You know me too well," she told the plump Herbology witch, but evaded the question. "Were you talking about the governors just now?"

"We were astounded to find that so many of them are here," Pomona said quietly. "Some fled, of course, Sir Jigger, for instance, is one of thoese who came back claiming that they were acting under the influence of the Imperius Curse. I find that rather worrying..."

"And I assure you, if anyone was cursed, it was Arsenius Jigger," Slughorn hissed. Minerva thought she could guess the reason for his indignation. The man in question was a well-known published author of Potions textbooks and essays. Very well received among specialists. According to Severus, Horace Slughorn worshipped him.

"Who is missing?" she said, looking around. There were twelve people in total, but not all of them were governors.

"Well, there is Lucius Malfoy, of course," said Horace, a little less under his breath than just before. "They all assume he fled after You-Know-Who's downfall, though. The investigations concerning the Imperius Curse are said to be a lot less comfortable than last time..."

Minerva nodded. Malfoy's re-election as a school governor, shortly after the Ministry's fall, had preceded Severus's return. At the time, she had been seriously tempted to walk out of Hogwarts, never to return, but there had never been a direct confrontation and when Severus had arrived, her decision had been made. The students came first.

"Was anyone elected whom I have not heard of?" She now enquired, surprised how few people she recognised among those who were already there.

"Percy Weasley, perhaps?" Pomona suggested, indicating a bespectacled individual standing close to Jigger and a bearded young man whom Minerva recognised as her former student Marcus Flint only on second sight. "He took on a double-post as the Deputy Head of the Department for Magical Education and as a Hogwarts governor. Kingsley is very pleased with his working attitude."

"I hear he has a lot to make up for," Minerva mumbled, letting her eyes wander over the rest of the congregation. Suddenly, however, the Entrance Hall's heavy oak doors opened once again and a small group of people marched in, each with the air of wanting to draw attention to themselves. Fair-haired and smoothly self-assured, Lucius Malfoy was leading the Minister for Magic and a smaller, grey-haired man towards the centre of the room, where the remaining governors were standing.

"Friends and colleagues," he said loudly when the last head in the room had turned towards them, "the Minister and I would like to welcome you to this first gathering after the near destruction of this ancient building. I do not have to stress that the election of a new headmaster is of profound importance for our society's future well-being..."

And he droned on. Minerva could hardly take in what he said. She was busy marvelling at the fact that, of all people, Lucius Malfoy had been able to avoid imprisonment and was already at large again. Kingsley stood and nodded attentively to what Malfoy senior had to say every now and then, but otherwise appeared to be his usual self. Had Malfoy perhaps used Imperio on him? Surely not. Minerva knew him to be resistant against the curse. But his sudden support of a former known Death Eater did not seem like a very likely turn of events either. So what had happened during the days when she had been too busy getting school life up and running again, as well as Severus out of imminent lethal danger? All too clearly engraved in her head now were young Potter's words of caution. His recount and continued repetition of the witches and wizards whom he believed to be or have been Lord Voldemort's most loyal followers: Malfoy, Lestrange, Crabbe, Goyle, Mulciber, Macnair, Avery... none of them particularly likely to have acted under the influence of the Imperius Curse. None of them without a record of murder or at least attempted murder of Muggles and, in some cases, even wizarding folk. And yet, some of them were here, some of them were alive and free, and some of them, Minerva suddenly thought with a surge of disgust welling up inside her, were hoping to be elected head of Hogwarts tonight.

* * *

** Author's Note: **In reply to a few reviews, because this is quickest: Cardigrl, you are right, Snape was Dumbledore's successor, but because no one knows he is alive in this scenario, and yet didn't get a portrait, people assume that, like Umbridge, he was never officially accepted as headmaster by the castle itself. Minerva doesn't think his time in office counts because he was put there sort of as the eyes and ears of the Dark Lord, never officially elected. Interesting view on Minerva, btw. Mine's quite similar. I am trying to form a consistent character for Minerva McGonagall out of all the info from the books. One way to do this is to show that she was utterly dependent on Dumbledore's decisions and had severe trouble making her own once he was gone. It's the best I can come up with for what JK did to her in DH, I'm afraid.

I wonder about people saying Minerva is showing no "backbone". Is this because we see her considerations behind the unbending outside for a change? Or is it because all her strength has been going into ensuring her best friend's safety and health for the past weeks (which will distract anyone from thinking about pushing through their career ambitions)? This is my reasoning for many of her current decisions, in any case. The good, as well as the bad ones.

Yay to Excessivelyperky for pointing out that Minerva has her flaws, and so does Snape. That's what makes their interaction interesting in almost any possible respect, I think.


	17. The Pensieve

**The Pensieve**

The new headmaster of Hogwarts was called Damocles Fabian Belby. An acclaimed Potions brewer and academic, he had impressed the board of governors with a profound range of experience in the field of organisation and local politics, as well as an enthusiasm for working with underage people for a change. All it had taken was one well-rehearsed speech by his old friend and colleague Horace Slughorn who, unsurprisingly, had won the governors favour within a heartbeat. It was hard to bear up against Slughorn in a verbal dispute, Minerva found. His embracing personality combined with a thoroughly friendly and understanding way of telling you that your views were utter rubbish provided a certain challenge, particularly if you were a friendly person and had no intention of dropping your politeness at any point of the conversation. For hours after the conference, Minerva had struggled to find reasons why it would, in fact, matter that Belby had never held a teaching post in his entire life, seeing as a headmaster was not going to teach anyway, now, was he? Ho ho ho.

Many grey-haired, white-bearded wizards' unanimous laughter was still ringing in her ear as Minerva entered McGillivray Manor's deserted East Wing kitchen some time after midnight to take a late drink before she would make her way upstairs.

Wizards! The more she thought about it, the more she found that the conversation had not circled around the question of Belby or not in the end, but around the question whether years of experience in teaching, like she had, were worth anything much at all. Certainly whether they were worth more than all the 'important' things Belby had done, such as reformulate the basic laws of healing potion brewing, or get together annual meetings of a congregation of representatives from all fields relating to magical potions and potion brewing.

Essentially, she thought, the conversation had been about her personally, and her worth to the school, even if none of the other participants had intended a personal attack. The value of the actual teaching had been questioned and this, Minerva realised with another furious jolt, was what had made her lose her composure. It had been what had reinforced the governors' opinion that she was just an 'overly-emotional female' in a powerful position. That, but nothing more.

The grandfather clock in the hallway stroke twice, indicating the half hour. Several of them to go until the house's departure, Minerva thought absently. She pressed two fingers against her temples to keep them from throbbing and to her great surprise, after sitting for a while with a kettle of water on a small fire and nothing but dim light coming from a small torch next to the kitchen door, the throbbing stopped. Soon, the sweet smell of liquorice tea filled the room and gave the wooden furniture a warm, somewhat rural feel. In the back of the room, an ochre wardrobe was lit by the flickering light of several candles in a jar on top of it and no moonlight was falling through the tiny window above the old bench near the door today, although a few stars made their presence known by twinkling almost sarcastically as an answer to Minerva's tired and dissatisfied gaze.

"I _could_ have thought of a reply," she muttered to herself while directing a cup out of the old cupboard and towards the kettle by means of several minuscule wand movements. "I could have made my point. But their decision was already made, was it not? A room full of wizards and just a handful of us... it is not particularly traditional for an officially still married woman to fill a demanding position like this in the first place..."

More wand movements made a filled cup hover towards her and place itself between two outstretched fingers. The slender witch put back her head and scowled when the light flickered at her, as though disagreeing.

"Well, anyway," she growled, "I always said I was quite satisfied with my position. Who needs me to do all the office work when there are students to care for, after all? Dumbledore did an excellent job and there was never a need to... to fill his position..."

"...until now," Severus's voice came from the doorway.

Minerva jumped and let go of her tea cup, which dropped on the floor, smashing into a thousand, tiny pieces.

"Heavens," the reinstated deputy headmistress breathed, clutching one hand to her chest. "Severus, you gave me quite a fright just now."

"Apologies," the younger man said. "I did not intend to interrupt, but then I heard voices and thought you might have an unwanted visitor."

"No," muttered Minerva, throwing a distracted look at the porcelain shards in front of her. "There is no need to worry about such things in here, Severus. The manor comes with a lot of useful features, such as a pair of entrance doors that will recognise if a visitor is welcome or not. They never fail us."

The Snape looked impressed.

"Merlin, will you look at this mess," Minerva mumbled, scratching her head while still observing her cup's remains on the floor in front of her, "not even I will be able to recreate a useful cup from all these, I think. No, it seems I shall have to leave them for Mawly to clean up tomorrow morning."

"Would you like me to do it?" Severus said eagerly.

Minerva frowned. "Why, if you insist..."

The younger man produced his black wand, put up an expression of deep concentration, and cleared the floor with one, very precise movement, muttering "_Evanesco_," under his breath. When the shards vanished, he raised his head again, looking triumphant. Minerva thought he looked a little like a second-year after their first summer break when discovering that their magic had, in fact, not all gone away. She suddenly realised that his eagerness to demonstrate how well he could already use his magic again did make her feel a little reminiscent of the time when she had still been his teacher. This, combined with the fact that Severus was still looking at her, celebrating his success in silence behind those glittering, black eyes, made her nod approvingly and then blush, regretting the movement in an instant. Their past as student and teacher hang heavily in the air, unsaid, like the vapour of some mind-addling nostalgia beverage. Minerva cleared her throat.

"You... seem to be recovering fast."

"I am lucky," said Severus tensely, and then, after moment's internal struggle, "Toke is a great help."

"Toke?" Minerva found herself surprised. "Was he here today?"

Severus nodded. "Lestrange thought it prudent," he explained, "since your father mentioned that we will probably be gone for some time..."

"We will?" Minerva replied, having been unaware of this. "How long?"

"He seemed to suggest that his work might keep him... well, _us_ for over a week," Severus replied and Minerva was just about to complain about the fact that she never got told important things like this when he added, "which is why the nurse is coming with us."

The deputy headmistress gave him a baffled look, feeling her headache return. "He is? Well, I must say, I am quite surprised to hear that my mother agreed to this. Surely, she must find all this very exhausting?"

"I believe your father convinced her," Severus replied. For some reason, his lips were curling slightly into what Minerva interpreted as a small grin. She refrained from making further enquiries.

"Have you been getting along with Morgana?" she asked instead, suddenly remembering the scene she had observed when testing Dumbledore's Multicoloured Quill in his office. "I hope she was not being intrusive?"

"We had a... rather lively discussion," Severus replied curtly. His face resumed its usual unpleasantness, which Minerva noticed not without concern. All these weeks since their encounter in the quarantine ward of St. Mungo's she realised, had given her the privilege of encountering Severus the man, not the spy, who was always, always on his guard not to let his true allegiance show, nor the teacher who constantly threw tantrums about rule-breaking Gryffindors or meddlesome portraits and ghosts.

Minerva tried to remember if she had ever seen full content in his eyes at any point during the twenty-six years of their acquaintance. Severus could be happy, oh yes, but had she ever seen him actually satisfied with his life?

The black-haired man was watching her bag now, curiously, and Minerva suddenly realised that he must have guessed straight away what was in it. The charm had long worn off and a circular bulge was now clearly visible against the light blue fabric.

She smiled and exposed the Pensieve, lifting it on the kitchen table without difficulty. The vessel was made of stone, but as though the substance inside caused it to defy gravity it was not, in fact, very heavy.

Severus's eyes blazed with delight when he realised that his friend had, in fact, been able to keep her word. He grabbed the Pensieve's brim with some vigour, took out his wand, and touched the misty liquid in front of him rather harsher than probably intended. Had the substance been water, Minerva thought, it would have splashed all over the floor and his face. As it was, it merely gravitated towards the long, black wand in its centre, like a mass of curious ants trying to find out what was disturbing their well-organised life.

"_Adhaesimens_," Severus snarled when nothing further happened.

The silvery substance swirled, but remained quite unimpressed by his efforts. Minerva, who had never heard a Legilimency spell in her life, suddenly realised that most wizards advanced enough to plunge into this very abstract field of magic were normally able to cast the spells voicelessly. A thought began to form in her mind, telling her that as long as Severus's skills were not back at least on NEWTs level, he would be hoping to perform thought-influencing magic in vain.

The situation had suddenly turned extremely awkward. Judging from the stunned look on the young man's face, Severus had not, in fact, expected to fail. Minerva guessed that he was trying to remove his memories from inside the basin, seeing as he had seemed rather protective of them in previous conversations. It would be a hard blow for him to find that he was not going to be able to do so.

"Severus," she said softly, trying to distract from the fact that his magic was on one level with third-year students at most, "do you know how to use a Pensieve at all? I mean, be honest – have you ever worked one before?"

A reproachful glare from underneath a curtain of unkempt, black hair met her eyes.

"Yes. Very... obviously...?"

"Do not misunderstand me," Minerva said quickly, "I do not mean to deprive you of this one again. But if you just need more time... or a little privacy, perhaps..."

"I am perfectly able to competently work a bloody Pensieve," Severus cut in, disbelief edged in every syllable. "In fact, I used to own one myself before it... ah... exploded."

Minerva's heart sank. If that was so, he had to be aware of the reasons why he could not work his magic now.

"Really?" she said, realising that her voice had assumed an unnaturally high and cheerful tone. "What on earth happened to it?"

"Someone... used it against my will and I got a little angry," Severus said with a hesitant note in his voice, turning his gaze back to the misty insides of the vessel before him. "Thought that I might be better off without it."

Minerva frowned. "Against your will? But how on earth – who would do such a thing? A Pensieve seems immensely private to me. Who would have the cheek..."

"A Gryffindor, obviously," Severus remarked, clearly intending to distract her by means of being rude. Minerva refused to fall for it. The expression on her former colleague's face was singular and told her everything she needed to guess who the culprit was – had to be.

"Surely not," she sighed. "How could he _possibly_ have stumbled across your unguarded Pensieve? Surely you would not have taken the risk of leaving him in your office without supervision?"

"Believe me, it is a mistake I will not make again in a hurry," snapped Severus, still not taking his eyes off Dumbledore's Pensieve. He had begun to stir its insides with his wand again, but, as before, the liquid seemed to refuse to take notice.

"It might be that there is too much magic involved," Minerva eventually said, intending to put an end to his fruitless efforts. "It seems likely that your theurgic system isn't yet strong enough to allow..."

"There isn't _that_ much actual magic involved in the use of a Pensieve," Severus snapped. "Considering that even _Potter_ managed to work it!"

"Potter produced a corporeal Patronus by the age of thirteen," Minerva snapped. "Really, Severus, I should say it is about time you gave my students some credit for their achievements. And he was not trying to extract an actual stream of thoughts, now, was he?"

Severus pressed his lips together and the Pensieve's insides curled into disgruntled waves. Minerva sighed and put one, slender hand onto the former Potions Master's shoulder, feeling slightly apprehensive all of a sudden.

"I am sorry, Severus," she said quietly. "It seems you will have to wait some more before you'll be able to regain your memories. Are they... you do remember them, do you not? While they are in there, I mean?"

"Not as vividly," Severus replied quietly. He seemed a little absent and his fingers were tracing the brim of the Pensieve. "More like a shadow of a thought. Something one used to know but has long forgotten. There are no more emotions attached to such memories. They seem to bear no importance."

"Will you forget about them if they are kept from you for too long?" Minerva enquired.

"Never," whispered the Snape, watching the faint shape of a silvery doe drift to the surface of the pale substance.


	18. Mother and Daughter

**Mother and Daughter**

Severus's magio-therapy sessions were Morgana's frequent delight. Not specifically invited, she was found to attend more and more of the two men's meetings in the course of the following weeks, sometimes by talking either Severus or Toke into allowing her to watch, or sometimes, later, by watering the plants and bringing them hot drinks every ten minutes or so. This was after Severus had expressed reservations towards her constant presence and Toke had had to 'respectfully ask her not to interrupt as often, since she clearly inhibited the patient's progress'.

Minerva noted, not without surprise, that her former colleague met his nurse with some more respect after this and she resolved to try and see if Morgana could be talked into some more meddling. Perhaps the two men could be lured into forming an allegiance against an outside intruder?

Except… well, except that Minerva did not _want_ her daughter to attend these very private sessions for a reason that was not at all entirely apparent.

One day in mid-July, when summer had finally decided to pay a real visit to the Northern part of the country, Minerva found herself taking tea with her daughter on one of the upstairs balconies, relaxing from a hard day's strenuous work. Both women had spent the entire morning cleaning the attic and were in a suitably tense mood now, due to an overdose of personal insults from various creatures with a grasp of the human language, which had been hiding in the dark corners and behind the furniture that were piling up on the manor's topmost level.

Morgana had battled two Boggarts and a Ghoul, while Minerva had discovered that her old collection of dried Bowtruckles had actually come back to life and produced a great amount of mischievous, semi-dangerous offspring during the decades she had lived away from home.

"I wonder what they have been eating," she muttered when drawing two chairs and a small table for a well-deserved lunch break. "They must have been sneaking outside on a regular basis – through some sort of opening, perhaps."

"Or they just ate the furniture," suggested her daughter wisely. "Stands to reason, doesn't it - _mum_! _Please_ don't have pumpkin bread with liquorice tea while I have to watch!"

"Save your lectures for your Quidditch team," replied Minerva curtly, delicately dipping one edge of her bread into her cup, just to make perfectly clear that she would not be taught eating manners by her own daughter.

The sun had just crept around the castle's massive Eastern Tower, illuminating half the balcony with its balustrade of geraniums and begonias, and for a while, only the faint sound of birds could be heard, which were frequenting the crown of an old beech tree that stood close by and was roughly level with the place where the two witches had settled down.

"Listen," said Morgana placably after a while, obviously interested in making real conversation for a change. "I've been wanting to talk to you about something…"

"Not an illegal time trip into your teenage years again, I hope," mumbled her mother.

"No, not this time," said Morgana, looking just slightly uncomfortable. "I was just wondering… how long will Severus have to stay with us?"

"Infinitely," replied her mother, her eyebrows raised. "Until he is healthy and can be exposed to normal magic outside the time turner field again."

"Even though he looks so much better already?" Morgana nagged.

Minerva raised her eyebrows and then crossed both, arms and legs in a gesture of resolute determination. "Why, yes," she said firmly. "He has made incredible progress, I'll admit. But I will have you know that Severus is going to be my guest as long as he likes, even if he happens to snap at you every now and then, and even after his healing process is completed."

Her look softened somewhat.

"The therapy sessions get on your nerves, don't they? Is that why you are intent on disrupting them?"

"No," mumbled her daughter, sounding undecided. "Rather the opposite, actually…" And her expression showed the oh so familiar gleam of a hunter closing in on her prey.

There was a short silence. An oddly painful sensation made its presence known somewhere in the region of Minerva's stomach. Was it anger at her daughter's irresponsibility?

"So… my post-pubescent daughter is on the lookout for another mating partner, is she?"

It sounded like a reproach – good. Morgana folded both hands around her cup and stared at the orange liquid inside without replying for some time. Was she blushing?

"Not for 'mating'," she said eventually, looking rather more patient than usual. "Don't put it like that. But there's... let's just say I have developed an interest, yes. Is it that obvious?"

"I will not permit you to bother our guests or disrupt these therapy sessions in any way," Minerva said sharply. "I have just about had enough of your adolescent escapades, my dear. It should have been clear to me that you were not merely showing an interest in the therapy's progress, of course. I forbid you to attend these sessions again."

Morgana's head snapped up. "_What_? Where did _that_ come from? I didn't actually do anything, did I?"

"No, you didn't," replied her mother tartly. "And you won't – not this time, I'll see to that. It's for your own good – and _his_."

"Mu-um! What are you suggesting? I am not likely to go in there and declare my everlasting love, after all!"

Another silence followed, shocked, and more awkward than the first.

"Let's just say I would not be surprised from what I know about you if you did," Minerva replied and got up, knocking over her chair as she did. It remained lying on the ground, ignored by both witches. A bunch of birds, who had inconspicuously been creeping towards them, bit by bit across the concrete balcony floor in hope of a few crumbs falling in their direction, fluttered away hastily. Minerva, realising that her movement had been harsher than intended, remained nevertheless standing, her fingertips drumming on the table in angry impatience.

"I will not allow our guests to be treated unsuitably," she then said sternly, deciding that mother-mode would be the safest way to go. "Particularly not by you and your premature ideas of life and love, Morgana Gwynhwyfhar McGonagall!"

"And I won't let my sexually frustrated mother dictate whom I can or can't fall in love with!" stormed the younger witch, now getting up as well. "How dare you suggest that my intentions have ever been anything but sincere? You don't actually _know_ me, it seems…"

"I know you better than you think…" began Minerva, but stopped at the sound of heavy steps approaching from inside. There was barely time for a hissed "We'll talk about this later," before the massive shape of Healer Lestrange appeared in the door frame. Minerva had to turn her head to catch a glimpse and put both hands on her hips in astonishment when she finally recognised him.

"What a surprise," she said, more enthusiastically than intended. "Healer Lestrange, I had no idea you were going to pay a visit."

"Just for a few moments in-between appointments," said the healer politely, shook hands with the deputy headmistress and, upon invitation, lowered himself onto a white chair, which Minerva conjured with a swift wave of her wand. "Toke called me about thirty minutes ago – wanted me to sign a few documents, so I thought I'd congratulate you, once again, on this fabulous environment. The patient is recovering at a near impossible speed. I just met him in the living-room. Couldn't believe my eyes when I saw what he is already experimenting with."

"Documents?" Morgana intervened, sounding alarmed. Minerva thought she could guess the reason. Her daughter was clearly under the impression that Severus would leave as soon as he did not require the stability of the time field any longer in order to survive. And given the former head of Slytherin's general sociability, Minerva had to admit that her assumption was probably not far off. Nevertheless, the feeling inside her stomach returned and she shot a stern look at the younger witch, who did not return it.

"Nothing too remarkable," nodded Lestrange. "Professor Snape requested permission for basic potion brewing, which I can all too happily grant him."

"Why does he need a permission?" asked Morgana curiously.

Minerva thought she knew. St. Mungo's long-term patients were sometimes bereft of certain rights concerning the basic execution of magical acts, such as potion making or certain types of spells and incantations. For security reasons, they said. She had never fully understood it, though she suspected that it had to do with the fact that potioneers and other wizarding scientists often got in contact with substances that were filled with other wizards' and witches' magic. What she had learned about the functioning of the theurgic system in recent weeks seemed to support this assumption, as did Healer Lestrange's evasive answer, "It is in the regulations."

"Does that mean Severus is strong enough for potion brewing again already?" Minerva suddenly wondered. "Is his magic not too weak for the higher levels?"

"It is indeed," Lestrange confirmed. "But that doesn't mean he shouldn't try. The only ones I cannot permit as yet are shape-changing potions and those interfering with people's personal time lines."

Minerva nodded. "Of course not. Why would Severus want to brew a Youth Potion anyway?"

Morgana crossed her arms, looking suspicious. "Why should he want to brew any kind of potion at all?"

"I don't know," confessed the healer. "Young Toke says the professor requested permission for basic potions at least. I take it there is a laboratory in this building?"

"My uncle is a licensed potions brewer," nodded Minerva. "We have a fully equipped professional lab in the basement."

"Any dangerous substances?" enquired the healer.

"Nothing more dangerous than Jobberknoll feathers or Ashwinder eggs as far as I know," Minerva replied. "I shall ask my uncle again, though. Is there anything we need to keep in mind when letting Severus in there?"

"There shouldn't be," mused Lestrange. "But one can never be too careful. As with the library, I advise to undertake no particularly complicated experiments, magic-wise, if Toke isn't at least close by."

"Easy," was Morgana's helpful reply, "he's here practically around the clock."

"Now, there's no need to exaggerate like that," said Minerva sourly. Something in her daughter's expression made her want to slap the younger witch – there was no rational explanation for it. She issued an inward reprimand and forced herself to let her daughter's words enfold their literal (and probably intended) meaning. "He would spend a lot less time here if you didn't engage him in endless small talk after he finishes with Severus every time," she then said thinly, attempting to banter. Morgana's face reddened with what Minerva assumed was anger.

"He's fun to talk to," the younger witch snapped. "Not as boring as the rest of this house's overaged inhabitants."

Minerva raised her eyebrows, but did not answer. Healer Lestrange looked uncomfortable enough as it was. She knew her daughter's true motivation for spending time in the East Wing these days and it was clear from Morgana's reaction that he was well aware of it.

"Incidentally," said Lestrange suddenly, seeming to have waited for a chance to say this for the last few minutes, "Young Toke expressed a wish to discuss the matter of schedules with you, Professor McGonagall."

Minerva turned her head in surprise. "Schedules? You mean his an Severus's?"

"As I understood it," said Lestrange calmly, "he is under the impression that the patient will require an increased amount of magio-therapy sessions soon and I concur. Professor Snape is reaching a critical stage in his development at the moment and would benefit from an increased amount of practice. The problem is that he hospital's funding does not allow any additional sessions, unless they are paid for privately, which the patient flat out refused."

"Would the additional sessions speed up the healing process?" Minerva enquired, watching her daughter's expression curiously and probably not as inconspicuously as intended.

"Certainly," replied the healer. "Not considerably, in comparison to the total amount of time needed for a full recovery, but we might be talking months here. And it is certainly necessary for him to regularly practice advanced magic – as advanced as possible – if he wants to reattain his former level of skill at some point."

"I think it's a good idea," said Morgana suddenly, her voice quite reasonable and steady.

Minerva, who had just perceived two very opposing sensations battling for superiority in this decision, threw her daughter a surprised look. Perhaps she was more grown-up than her mother tended to give her credit for?

"We'll do it then," she said eventually. "Never mind the financial issues. I'll pay for whatever treatment is or will become necessary."

Lestrange thoughtfully stroked his beard and then nodded. "As you wish, madam. Shall we go downstairs and talk the matter through with Toke and Professor Snape?"

"I'll talk to them later," said Minerva quickly. "No need to interrupt their session."

For the first time today, Lestrange smiled. "Oh, I doubt that they are still working."


	19. Daughter and Mother

**Daughter and Mother  
**

The two witches and Lestrange arrived downstairs several minutes later, Morgana still in what seemed a sulky mood, and Minerva leading a continuous battle with the unfamiliar feelings inside. She was pleasantly surprised to find that Toke and Severus had finished the serious part of their studies and had now taken up the occupation of levitating small objects and letting them zoom towards each other, Severus as fast as he could, Toke with the patient air of a grown-up racing against a small child. The game, a favourite among Hogwarts's pre-pubescent inhabitants, involved a lot of broken objects and small injuries, but usually nothing a few well-placed spells could not fix. At Hogwarts, there were always Prefects around to solve this kind of problem. Here, at McGillivray Manor, there was Toke, which was more than sufficient to ensure basic security.

"Why don't I get to hit Severus in the face with pillows?" said Morgana's voice behind Minerva and she turned, trying to flash her daughter a friendly smile – and failed.

"I see you two are making great progress," she said instead, turning quickly towards the two players, and patted Severus lightly on the back, who had just sent one of the larger sofa cushions in Toke's general direction.

"Immensely," said the former Potions master earnestly, evading a bunch of flowers with an elegant turn to the side. Albeit the rather childish pastime he and Toke had taken up, his face was as serious and concentrated as ever. It was no small wonder that the therapy was so successful if he put the same kind of determination in his recovery as he did in the preparation of his Potions lessons, Minerva thought. For a second, the memory of a younger Severus Snape learning his start-of-term speech by heart in the dimly lit staff room replaced the wavering sensation inside her with a warm and fuzzy glow. With a reminiscent sigh, she leaned against the door-frame, watching the people around her. Healer Lestrange, it seemed, had bumped into her mother before reaching the living-room and was currently examining a piece of paper the old lady seemed to have presented him with. Morgana had taken possession of Toke's coat and thrown it over her own shoulders, while the nurse and his patient were stowing away their wands and starting to clear up. Minerva crossed her arms, allowing herself to dwell in memories for a while. Little did any of them know. Little did they realise, probably, how much Severus in his current state reminded her of the young man, who had sat in her office seventeen years ago, a look of supreme confidence on his face.

"Dumbledore talked to me, of course," she had told him in her most official tone. "You applied for the vacant teaching position and I am more than happy to tell you that your application has been accepted."

"I applied for Defence Against the Dark Arts originally," he had replied, rather more conversationally than usual, "but the headmaster seems to be under the impression that I ought to start with Potions and see how I get on with it."

"Indeed," Minerva had mused. "How curious. Well, Albus tends to have good reasons for such decisions, of course. And we are in dire need of a replacement for Professor Slughorn."

And that had been it. For a long time after this conversation, Minerva had wondered what had kept Dumbledore from just giving Severus the Defence position. The gap Slughorn had left had been great, yes, but finding a teacher willing to tackle Defence Against the Dark Arts for more than one year… how long she had marvelled at the headmaster's stubbornness. Then, of course, she had once again realised how spot on Dumbledore's instinct was when it came to teaching positions. Severus was perfect for Potions. He was straightforward, reliable, logical, and, most of all, he loved the subject beyond all others. Yes, he had applied for Defence, but Minerva had finally accepted that it had been for reasons of prestige. To the present day, the wizarding world was fundamentally biased in its attitude towards certain professions and the corresponding subjects. Aurors were regarded more highly than healers, healers more than teachers, and consequently, according to the majority of students' view, it was more important to receive good grades in Defence than in Potions. To name just one example.

The other thing Minerva had to admit she had underestimated when Dumbledore had first spoken to her about the appointment of Severus as a teacher, was his assessment of the young man's teaching qualities. Against all odds, Severus had always been a good – no, an excellent teacher. She knew of the complaints, of course. Students feeling attacked and personally insulted, staff members complaining that particularly first-years left the Potions classroom emotionally destabilised… but the quality of his lessons was undeniable. Minerva knew this because she had personally sat a few of them in the shape of a student (ah, the wonders of Polyjuice Potion) as was common consensus for the deputy headmistress with every new member of staff. Just to be sure that the Hogwarts teaching standard did not slacken. One of the most pleasant duties the deputy position brought with it.

And despite an unbending intolerance of slowness and disrespect (or perhaps because of it?) Severus devised the most effective, well-structured lessons she had seen in forty years of teaching. The same determination, which he now put into his healing process, usually assured that every single of his students passed their end-of-year Potions exam, no matter how questionable their other subjects' results were.

Minerva suddenly realised that Toke had been talking to her for some time and that she had not taken in a single word, despite constant nodding and the occasional 'uh-huh,' signalling that she was listening attentively to his explanations. Healer Lestrange was still talking to Vesta McGillivray, nodding mutely every now and then, and Morgana was engaged in a conversation with Severus, producing unusually vivid, well-rounded gestures with her arms while she was talking about – was it Quidditch again? Impossible. Everyone knew that Severus's enthusiasm for the subject was as limited as his interest in Transfiguration had been in his time.

"…most pressing question might be what to do when the term starts again," she heard Toke say. "Because obviously there needs to be someone close by at all times, potentially at least. It isn't a problem now, but I don't know if I'll get the chance to – are you with me, Professor McGonagall?"

Minerva jumped slightly. She had followed some of Morgana's more exaggerated gestures with her eyes instead of keeping up her pretence of enraptured attention with Toke's recount.

"I am very sorry," she said, tearing her gaze away from Severus, who was bending forward slightly, though somewhat reluctantly, to enable Morgana to whisper something in his ear. "What were you saying?"

"I am worried that we might not be able to ensure a permanent supervision once you are back at Hogwarts and your daughter is off to play Quidditch again," said Toke tensely. "The professor is of the opinion that he will manage on his own accord, but I would strongly advise against leaving him alone for longer periods of time. For security reasons."

"Healer Lestrange said you wanted to discuss schedules," said Minerva absently. "It would help a lot if you could increase the frequency of your lessons – possibly stay here for longer periods of time. I shall be able to return home regularly if needed, but certainly not during the middle of the day or even entire weekends. The students need my full attention during term time."

"That's the problem," said Toke, looking worried. "My current status as a nurse permits me a maximum of eight working hours a week with each patient. I am already swapping shifts all the time, which isn't officially prohibited, but makes me look like a workaholic dork to the other nurses. Any kind of increase in patient time would shift my status from nurse to attendant, which is a different salary grade entirely, and..."

"Financial matters are not a problem," Minerva said quickly, her eyes now following Severus, who was busy evading Morgana's attempts of tickling him. (He looked sour. Good. He would have no trouble showing her his limits. Severus was an excellent teacher when it came to personal boundaries.) "Everything that is not covered I will pay for privately. Will you be able to do the job, or would you prefer us to turn to the hospital for an attendant?"

"Well, I'd love to continue, of course," Toke replied vaguely, gnawing his thumbnail, "but I don't know... the decision rests with Professor Snape, really."

Minerva heaved a small sigh. She was sure, Severus would not miss the opportunity of proving just how well he could get along on his own.

"Severus," she said without turning, for fear of having to see Morgana and him engage in another private activity beside tickling, "would you like to continue your sessions with Toke or would you prefer one of the hospital's attendants to continue practising with you?"

"I'm keeping Toke," was the flat reply. Minerva turned in surprise.

"You are?"

Severus was leaning against a wall, one arm outstretched, keeping Morgana at a safety distance, who had come to an abrupt halt when Severus had been made part of the conversation.

"He is not as annoying as he used to be," the former Potions Master assessed, ignoring the fact that Toke was standing only six feet away from him. "And getting used to someone new, possibly even less socially competent than this one, doesn't seem worth the effort..."

"Well then," Minerva cut in, hoping that Toke would not take offence, "that is settled then. I'll be glad to have you around more often, Mr. Toke."

"Yes, _Mr. Toke_," added Morgana, temporarily unoccupied due to Severus's persistent resilience. "We'll all be glad to have you around much more often from now on!"


	20. Love

**Love**

The two medicals departed only a little later. Morgana had been obliged to join her grandmother upstairs for some decoration advice, and Severus was still standing where the end of his session with Toke had left him, surrounded by one or two remaining cushions and other broken items, which had appeared beyond repair to Toke, but were quickly fixed with a flick of Minerva's wand. Severus looked thankful, for once, that the task of repairing the inflicted damage did not fall upon him. The deputy headmistress could only wonder whether this was due to his exhaustion or the fact that repairing broken items fell into the category of basic Transfiguration spells, something with which Severus had sometimes had trouble as a student.

The former Potions master fiddled with his wand for a bit, examining its tip for some time, and then shoved it deeply into the pockets of his black robes again. Minerva lingered near the edge of the sofa for a while, unsure whether to offer her guest a cup of tea or to let him rest. Then, however, Severus made a move. He seemed to somehow drift towards her rather than consciously steering his movements, but at last they ended up next to each other on the living room's vulgarly big couch, examining the floo network entrance with pointedly scientific interest.

"There is something I've got to show you," the wizard eventually said, after several unsuccessful attempts from both sides of filling the silence. "You will like it."

"Does it have to do with your health?" Minerva enquired curiously. Severus nodded.

"Yes. But not merely. Do you remember my unsuccessful attempt of working the Pensieve only a few weeks ago?"

Minerva nodded. Vividly, she thought, but refrained from mentioning this thought to her former colleague.

"Well, you will be happy to hear that I have now passed that stage," Severus said quietly, seeming a little smug. "I was able to extract my thoughts this morning."

Minerva's stomach gave a small jolt. "That's good, Severus," she said excitedly. "Very good, in fact. Do you realise that your determination is probably the best therapy of all? I am very glad -" But she stopped again, realising that she had interrupted something more important than mere bragging.

"I have also... extended the Pensieve a little," continued Severus quietly as though she had never interrupted. He pointed at an additional set of runes, branded onto the outside of the vessel's material, and Minerva bent over it, pushing her square glasses up her nose a little to be able to read properly. She found that she was unfamiliar with most of them.

"What is the purpose?" she asked, now watching the insides of the Pensieve with increasing curiosity. "I notice your memories changed their colour."

It was true. Instead of mere stands of silver and white, the Pensieve now contained a core of gold – a tiny centre, which looked a little like an embryo in its misty surroundings.

"These," Severus said proudly, "are abstracts of memories. Parts, which one likes to remember, filtered through a mass of impressions that are good and bad."

"You mean only moments instead of whole periods of time?" Minerva enquired. Severus shook his head.

"Not abstracts in a chronological sense. There, I'll show you."

He put his wand in the Pensieve and extracted a bright golden, very thin strand of thought.

"Amazing," Minerva whispered, marvelling at the speed of his progress rather than the fine, white mist that was now swirling around the tip of the former Potions master's wand. "Severus, this is truly remarkable..."

"May I?" he asked politely, holding the wand towards her. Minerva hesitated, but then nodded. Severus put up a concentrated look and held his wand very carefully against her temple. She closed her eyes.

The sensation of seeing someone else's thoughts was not entirely new to her. When she had been younger, a very proud Albus Dumbledore had allowed her to visit a memory of his in order to demonstrate just how cleverly his Pensieve was crafted. She had always suspected that the headmaster's skills concerning mind-addling magic were supreme, but Severus's invention made her gasp nevertheless.

When she opened her eyes again, his were glittering eagerly and his lip was curling into a satisfied smile, as though her reaction to his experiment was quite to his taste.

"Severus, what... what was that?" she asked, putting her shaking hands together in an attempt to control her emotions. "It's _extraordinary_!"

"Tell me what it was like," said her former colleague quietly. "Could you see anything?"

"No," whispered Minerva. "Not see. Just – I could feel. I had a sensation of... oh, Severus... it was happiness beyond anything I have ever experienced. Peace and happiness. The knowledge that if I died now, I would not mind because everything was warm and fuzzy and wonderful."

Severus pulled a grimace, but nodded nevertheless.

"That's what it's supposed to do," he said curtly. "Though infinitely better described than I could have. It is just an emotion, of course, not a real thought. Just the memory of how something felt, with all the pictures and knowledge of what was actually happening at the time cut away."

"When was it?" Minerva asked, closing her eyes once more to be able to recall the feeling Severus's memory had just caused inside her. Severus made an abrupt gesture with his arm, as though unwilling, almost defiant, to answer her question.

"Just some moment," he said dismissively.

Silence descended. Both professors sensed that there was an issue of trust between them – trust, which needed repairing so badly after what had happened in the course of the previous school year. Minerva was suddenly uncomfortably aware just how much trust she had, once again, put into Severus without knowing whether he would return the favour. Severus, it appeared, was thinking along the same lines.

"It was the moment before I passed out," he said reluctantly, though with an air of determination about him. "In the Shack, when I thought I was going to die."

"But that was a horrible moment," Minerva cried. "You were bleeding to death – there was no one there to help you..."

There was another small pause. Minerva became aware of an expression in Severus's face she had not seen there before and suddenly realised that there was more to the matter than she had assumed.

"There _was_ someone there," she whispered, clasping her hands in front of her mouth. "Someone was there and they left you to die, didn't they? How else could they not have noticed that you were still..."

"Don't be ridiculous," said the black-haired man quickly. "Just because you associate this kind of feeling with the presence of people does not mean everyone is... ah, as extroverted."

He looked rather embarrassed. Did he regret that he had shared this moment with her? Had he shared it with others? Minerva suddenly realised that he was lying now. Potter had heard of Snape's whereabouts from someone who had actually been in the Shack – who had actually watched Severus's suffering. The question was... who?

"My apologies, Severus," she then said, a sudden, inexplicable desire guiding her words – a desire of turning this shared moment into a good one, not one of embarrassment and unspoken truths. What did it matter, after all, why Severus had felt happy the very moment he had been about to die? He had recovered. He lived. _And_ he had managed to extract the memory and purify it, regardless his current state of fragility...

"Severus," she said slowly when more thoughts entered her mind, "how did you work this kind of advanced magic in your current state?"

This new turn of the conversation seemed rather more to the Snape's taste. The tension on his gaunt face eased a little.

"There is not much actual magic involved," he said. "It is more to do with inventiveness. And a solid knowledge of Ancient Runes helps. Of course, we had an excellent teacher at the time..."

"Why did you do it?" Minerva continued to enquire.

Severus gave her a distinct smile and shrugged, eventually. "No reason," he said. "I just wanted to see if I could."

"Did you extract anything else?"

"Well, yes..." All of a sudden, the Snape seemed awkward again. "I tried a few older memories – childhood ones – but they are no good. Too pink and fluffy. I also tried to capture some hatred, unsuccessfully because hatred really is just an obsession mixed with negative feelings and you cannot capture obsession."

"So what was the one you showed me?" said Minerva quietly.

Severus returned her gaze, appearing thoughtful. His black eyes were resting on hers, looking like black tunnels in which a hundred thoughts and memories were suddenly whirling around, tempting him to show a sign of human emotion.

"I could not say for sure," he replied vaguely after a while, his expression unmoving, "but I suppose I like to think this sensation resembles... love."


	21. The Divorce

**The Divorce**

The following days were filled with preparations for the new term. Minerva regretted her imminent departure, even though she had promised to Toke that she would return for at least one day each week if possible, which was a lot more time away from Hogwarts than she usually permitted herself.

Both her parents were seen in the corridors and lingering around her and Morgana much more often than normal. Vesta McGillivray had taken up the habit of asking Minerva's advice on decoration matters around twice as often as she normally did – as every year around this time – and her father seemed to require more and more short trips into past centuries as the days passed, reliably informing his family of every change in schedule.

Minerva had spoken to the new headmaster a couple of times already. Damocles seemed a nice enough man, she thought, even though a little disorganised at times. But he would do a good job, she was sure of it – wanted to be sure, for every additional task at her work place meant less time at home, less time with Severus.

She had come to realise just how much she would miss her younger colleague. The previous year had started without him, too, of course, and granted, she had been furious every time the thought of him had entered her mind, but now that they were friends again, possibly closer than they had ever been before, it seemed an almost unbearable loss not to be able to have their occasional tête-a-têtes in the evening or to see each other at every mealtime in a loud and bustling Great Hall.

No, Minerva resolved, Hogwarts would not be the same without Severus, although a lot of students would likely show open relief at his departure. The situation was still such that her former colleague wanted nobody to know that he was still alive and considering some of the things you heard from the Ministry of Magic these days, Minerva was inclined to agree with this tactic.

Topaz appeared on the manor's doorstep only once before August really dropped all its defences and approached its end with reckless openness, saying that he had just been in the neighbourhood and wanted to drop by. Given the fifteen minutes walk from the outer gates to the building's main entrance, Minerva was inclined to suspect other motives.

"I just know he persists to come here because mother fans his hopes," she said grumpily when taking tea with Severus in the East Wing's small kitchen, three days before the start of term. "If she would just support me in my unwavering efforts to indicate to him that it is over, once and for all..."

"You believe that he would stay away?" Severus enquired.

"I believe I could call him a fool, saying that there was no foundation for his continuing hopes, with some justification then," replied Minerva wearily. "As it is, though, I cannot very well blame him. There is someone close to me who thinks there will be a continuation of the marriage, and she is _supposed_ to know me better than many other people. If she says I will remarry, of course he will assume that she labours on more than just assumptions."

"And are you?"

Minerva looked up.

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you going to remarry?" Severus asked patiently.

"I wish," mumbled the deputy headmistress, rubbing her face, but stopping when she sensed Severus's surprise. "What?"

"I was under the impression that you did not wish to be married to him."

There was a small pause.

"Not to Topaz, I suppose," said Minerva eventually, feeling strained. What did Severus know of the position of a pure-blood wife after a divorce? What did he know of a witch's struggle, who made the decision to live alone and support her family on her own? It was not easy for a woman in Minerva's position – had never been. The anachronistic values of the Pureblood society stretched well beyond the use of quills and parchment. Even now, at the end of the twentieth century, when Muggle women were just beginning to harvest the benefits gained by feminist fighters half a century earlier, witches of her background and blood status continued to live in a Victorian mindset, finding that their life could – nay, should consist of nothing but housework and child-raising.

Minerva sighed and put one hand on top of the other, suddenly seeing herself wear her mother's gloves in three or four decades to go, possibly more alone than she could imagine now that she was still in the prime of her life.

"You are wondering if it will incriminate your mother's position if you continue to be unmarried," Severus said quietly. Minerva looked up.

"And you are practising magic at an incredibly advanced level, Severus. When did you re-gain your Legilimency skills?"

"I didn't," said the former Potions Master quietly. "I merely voiced an assumption."

Another silence lay heavily on the scene and Minerva wondered for a moment whether this was really a conversation she wanted to have with a person whom she had, only a few months ago, misjudged so gravely that she would have duelled him to the death.

"When I divorced Topaz," she eventually said, deciding, once again, for trust and against the barrier threatening to appear between them, "the wizarding community was in an uproar. You didn't notice, probably, because you were still very young, as was Morgana, and the dispute remained within the pure-blood families. We are snobbish when it comes to pride. We fight to the death, but towards those of allegedly lesser standards, we present a unanimous line. You will understand this way of thinking, as it is quite openly practised in all matters concerning Slytherin house even today. It is a kind of pure-blood pride..."

"I know it," confirmed the Snape. "But the cause of the uproar is, as yet, unclear to me. I take it even witches are allowed to divorce their husbands?"

"Severus, do you know wizarding law at all?"

The Snape looked slightly insulted.

"I studied History of Magic under the meticulous and profound care of our esteemed colleague Professor Binns for several years . How can you suggest I am not perfectly informed?"

Minerva smiled weakly. "Well, then you'll know that, according to our law, witches still need to give an incontrovertible reason as to why a divorce is necessary, do you not?"

"Like what?"

"Like violence," replied the deputy headmistress, blushing slightly. "Or mistreatment of his daughter, or constant drunkenness – none of which happened, I can assure you."

"I don't doubt it." Severus's face was very earnest now. He had previously spend a lot of time caressing a very large mug of steaming liquorice tea, but now that the conversation was entering more serious fields, his attention seemed diverted. "Why then did you leave him?"

"Because after he got promoted to head of his department at St. Mungo's he turned into an arrogant bore," Minerva said resolutely. "Because living with him got so difficult that I felt I could not bear the constant stress and fighting any longer. And because the times when he was not at home were the best for me – and for Morgana, I felt."

"Did Morgana like him?" Severus enquired.

"She loves him," Minerva said. "After the divorce... well, there was a good time and there were more difficult ones, during some of which she lived with her father, not with me. A great deal of which, I should say. It seems as though she spent every single holiday between her first and her last year at Hogwarts in London rather than with me."

"Somewhat understandably, seeing as you were with her twenty-four hours a day during term time," observed the young wizard wisely. Minerva smiled.

"Perhaps. But I was hurt. At first, that is. I do understand her motives and I have come to realise... well..." She broke off, looking out of the window in want of the right words to choose. She trusted Severus, very much so, but the topic was no easier than it had been twenty years ago, when she had tried discussing it with friends and family. "It seems to me that he is a much better parent than I am," she said eventually, clinging to her cup as though for dear life. "I have never felt very comfortable in the role of a mother, although I love my daughter beyond anything. There are times when you feel uncomfortable and cannot even tell why. There are times when you think you do not deserve the trust – and the responsibility you are entrusted with. And there are rarely people there to help you."

"I understand," said Severus simply. Minerva felt a surge of warmth well up inside her. Of course he did. And of course it was as simple as this.

"Thank you," she whispered. And then, for a long time, nothing.

"So..." said Severus, several moments later, having finished his tea, "you are wishing now that you were married again, to protect your status?"

"I was just..." Minerva began, feeling tense, "oh, you mean my wishing I could remarry? I must say I was not referring so much to the actual process as to having the option. You see, since wizarding law does not permit divorces executed without a very founded reason, my marriage was never annulled. From a legal point of view, I still _am _Minerva McGonagall."

"That is ridiculous," Severus hissed. "You should be able to make such decisions."

"I should also be able to offer my seat on the Knight Bus to an elderly wizard without being looked at in a funny way," Minerva said tiredly. "But that is not what the wizarding world is like. It is not the pure-blood way."

There was another small silence, in which suddenly not awkwardness was the predominant sensation, but mutual understanding and even a trace of affection.

"It is your way," Severus said eventually, not taking his eyes off the older witch's. "And personally, I have great respect for it."


	22. The Dinner

**The Dinner**

Approaching voices from the hallway interrupted the conversation and the two former colleagues' gaze broke apart at once.

"Mu-uuum! Rescue me!"

Moments later, a very old and distinguished-looking Lady McGillivray entered the kitchen, almost at the same time as her aggressive-looking granddaughter entered from the other side. The two witches glared at each other, obviously in the middle of a dispute, and then crossed a pair of arms each, building themselves up to full height in their respective door frame.

"I absolutely insist on the black one," said Minerva's mother sharply and made several steps forward at last, attempting to grab the younger witch's shoulder. "It makes you look much more mature. You ought to at least try and see if you still fit into it, or we'll have to visit Madame Malkins before we do all the rest of the shopping."

"Can't you take someone else?" Morgana pleaded, turning on spot, her wand suddenly drawn. "I don't feel like going to Diagon Alley at all!"

"This is not a question, young lady," replied her grandmother sternly, drawing her wand in turn. A gloved hand and a tatooed one flicked two very thin, sharp wands briefly and two jets of light crossed the room, one letting a sandwich zoom into Morgana's general direction, who caught it and let herself slump on one of the free chairs close to Severus, the other missing the young witch's unorthodox haircut only by inches.

"My hair, my decision," said Morgana sharply, throwing an expectant look at her mother. Minerva gave her a you-decided-to-live-here look, which was answered by a didn't-chose-my-family-though one by her daughter. Severus followed all these gazes with heightened interest, Minerva felt. He seemed very much at home with some of the proceedings common under this roof by now, despite his undeniable knack for staying out of any kind of confrontation for as long as possible.

"What is the occasion, mother?" enquired Minerva now, conjuring two more cups of tea, well aware that one of them would remain unused. Vesta McGillivray put her hands on her hips.

"Well, what do you think, Minerva? The dinner, of course. I shall not permit the girl to attend in her most ungainly..."

"There is going to be a dinner?" asked Minerva quickly, trying not to show too much surprise. She usually knew of the greater occasions planned under her parents' roof, even when she was not living here on a permanent basis.

"Really, dear, you are clearly overworked," said her mother disapprovingly. "I did tell you that I was going to invite a few people this weekend, I am sure of it."

"There has been much trouble..." Minerva began, but then broke off. She really could not remember her mother mentioning a dinner. "Who will attend?" she therefore asked. "Not a great number of people, I imagine?"

"Just a few," her mother said, flattered by her daughter's interest. "My old friend and colleague Lady Warrington-Selwyn, of course, as well as my old friend Madame Lestrange and a few others. I did ask Topaz to attend if he has the time, even though I told him you will probably be too busy..."

"Oh, yes," said Minerva quickly. "Preparations for the new term are already very heated..."

"I expected as much," replied her mother. "But he accepted my invitation in any case. Well, apart from those mentioned, there will be this house's inhabitants, of course, which includes your stubborn daughter..."

"I'll not wear that dog-collared, button-down bloody kind of dress," Morgana said between two bites of sandwich. Minerva suppressed a smile. She got up, rounded her daughter's chair, and placed both hands on Morgana's shoulders, knowing instinctively that this was still something the younger witch liked.

"Just for one night," she said quietly, trying to ignore the fact that the young witch was attempting to put her leg across Severus's knees – unsuccessfully, of course. "Doesn't sound too much, now, does it?"

"Talk as much as you want," said Morgana gruffly. "You're not the one being presented as everyone's lovable little porcelain doll."

Minerva's eyes met Severus's, whose face remained pointedly impassive except for his lips, which – was she imagining it? - were curling into a minuscule grin. Minerva gave him a small nod.

"You are invited, too."

The Snape looked startled. Minerva's mother raised an eyebrow.

"He is?"

"I am?"

"He is one of this house's inhabitants, is he not?" Minerva said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. Her mother threw a reluctant look first at Severus, then at Minerva, who crossed her arms in front of her chest. It was not so much that she wanted Severus to suffer the snobbishness of one of her mother's arranged events, but rather that she suspected she knew why her mother had not even thought of inviting the young Halfblood while being perfectly content with Morgana's presence, who was about the same age.

"Well, I suppose..." began Vesta McGillivray, seeming increasingly reluctant, "yes, why not. He can accompany Morgana."

A surge of pain shot through Minerva's chest and she clenched her fists, unwittingly.

"That's... why... yes, I suppose that is a good idea."

"Mum!"

Morgana jumped up, her face suddenly contorted with rage. "This is ridiculous! You treat me as though you were in any position to make my decisions for me! Both of you!" She glared at both of the two older witches in turn. "I am not going to show up, looking like a stuffed animal, courtesying and saying 'yes ma'm' all the time. I won't do it! I won't! Least of all accompanied by..." She halted, throwing what looked like a death glare at an impassive-seeming Severus, "...by a _Halfblood_," she then concluded, throwing the word in her mother's face like a wet towel. Minerva had barely time to digest this new turn of events when Morgana had already turned on her heels, left the kitchen, and slammed the door behind her with as much force as one could muster at such a hurried exit. Vesta McGillivray stared after her granddaughter, her mouth slightly open with the same disbelief and confusion Minerva felt herself confronted with. Severus was wearing his usual expression, unfathomable to the outside viewer. Minerva rubbed her temples, feeling very exhausted all of a sudden.

"I am going to talk to her – later."

"I suggest you don't," said Severus suddenly, leaning back in his chair. Minerva looked up at him, frowning.

"I'm sorry?"

"My advice is to let the matter rest," said Severus quietly. He looked slightly paler than usual, but otherwise unchanged. "The way I have come to understand Morgana's behaviour, she will want us to forget the matter as soon as the entrance doors close behind her. Another talk will only upset her."

Minerva felt her gaze darken. "Oh, but there are limits to what I'll allow my daughter to call my guests under my roof."

"With all due respect," said Severus quietly, "but I have been called worse under Pureblood roofs for much less... obvious reasons."

Minerva tried to think of a reply, but could not find any words that would not make her appear as though she was trying to attack, deny, and excuse the kind of purebloodist talk you occasionally heard during family gatherings all in one go. Her mother, on the other hand, was rather quicker on the uptake.

"Well, young Snape, I should think it is obvious that you ought to attend on your own then, if my granddaughter will not be persuaded to change her mind. You are very welcome to, in any case."

"Thank you, madam," replied Severus courteously. "I shall consider the invitation very carefully."

There was a small silence.

Then a squeal from the hallway.

"Viking attaaaaaack!"

The next moment, Morgana was in the room again.

"The hallway," she panted, the previous moment's dispute entirely forgotten, "it's a mess! There are pieces of furniture everywhere – literally, I mean. Legs here, drawers there, wood in every corner! Quick, mum, you've got to come and look!"

Minerva jumped to her feet, as did her mother and Severus, both of whom had very worried expressions on their faces.

"I'll get Hamish," breathed Vesta McGillivray, white with fear. "I knew it'd come to this at some point..."

"How could you have?" snapped Minerva, making her way through the kitchen door and down a small staircase towards the hallway. "The doors have always kept people away! What could possibly have happened..."

"The time-turner," whispered Morgana. "You think it's okay? The big one, I mean?"

Minerva clasped her chest.

"I truly hope so," she breathed. "Otherwise Severus will be in grave danger... Morgana, go and check. I shall pursue the intruders' way through the castle and try to corner them. Severus, you come with me!"

It was the least wise of all decisions. Getting Severus out of the line of fire would have been more sensible, Minerva realised even before she issued her commands, watching her mother disappear in the direction of the West Wing, but something inside her did not want to even consider the possibility of Morgana and Severus alone on the North Tower so close to what was probably a magnificent sunset at this time of the year.

"Come," she told the pale-faced young wizard, who followed her without hesitation down a few steps leading away from the hallway and into a corridor that lead towards the dungeons and was littered with broken furniture, as well as splintered torch wood. The torches near its end had been ripped out of their holdings or merely extinguished so that the end of the corridor was wrapped in darkness. Not a sound was to be heard from the basement.


	23. In the Dungeons

**Author's Note: **Apologies that uploads are so slow at the moment. I do not have much time for writing at all at the moment, I am afraid. This chapter is a little longer again, though, to make up for the wait. Enjoy!

* * *

**In the Dungeons**

For a long while, nothing but the hollow sound of their own footsteps reverating from the stone walls broke the silence. Both, Minerva and Severus walked at a fairly normal pace, their wands drawn and held in constant vigilance in front of a pair of lanky, slightly awkward bodies. Their movements were tense and slow and two pairs of eyes and ears were scanning the darkness for any kind of potential movement or sound. Minerva waited for unusual ones, Severus, she assumed, for something he recognised. The younger man's face was paler than usual, illuminated only by the dim light their wands shed in a small circle around them. Minerva's hands were shaking slightly, making the walls appear to flicker, while Severus's was steady but, she noticed, slightly sweaty.

After what seemed an endless walk through silence and darkness, Minerva suddenly made a decision, stopping in mid-movement several feet away from a sharp bend where the North-West front ended and the corridor led into the East Wing area, alongside the North tower's circular wall. The manor, as it was now, had been re-constructed many times. Strictly speaking, some people saw it as a castle, but there was no moat or drawbridge, so Minerva prefered the term manor, which seemed more fitting for contemporary use and made her feel more as though she was living in average surroundings. And, of course, compared to Hogwarts, the house was indeed small. But it had towers – and battlements, in one place. It was all very exciting.

"This is useless," she whispered now in the general direction of Severus's ear, who had stopped a few inches beside her, glancing back and forth in search for a reason for her sudden halt. "We are putting ourselves in pointless danger. If they are here, it is far too easy for them to ambush the two of us in this darkness. Fighting Vikings is no fun, I can tell you."

She took a few steps forward, gazing around the bend with supreme caution. Her mood lit slightly when finding the remining corridor deserted.

"What is there?" asked Severus tensely, his voice as low as hers had been.

"The East Wing's wine cellar," said Minerva with a grim smile. "Complete with a good, heavy oak door. Ideal for spells to lock even a group of Vikings in – thank Merlin their magic isn't too advanced."

"How can you be sure they are Vikings?" Severus enquired in a whisper while they turned round the bend cautiously, always prepared to strike.

"Oh, it is always Vikings," said Minerva absent-mindedly, trying to think of a way of getting closer to the wine cellar's door without taking any risks. "Their time is my father's area of expertise. This house spends more time in the fifth century than anywhere else, which was a time when the country was combed through for gold and other valuables by hordes of ransacking Vikings. Father is quite friendly with most of them, actually, since he is fluent in their language. But they sometimes besiege the house by accident, not knowing whose it is or what is inside. It just seems to be what they do."

"It does indeed," whispered Severus, glancing absently into the darkness, in the direction where Minerva had previously pointed. "Why did you say your father had taken up this highly dangerous profession?"

"He irons out time travellers' mistakes," explained Minerva automatically. "You have to have people like him who change the changes in time that occur when some mindless historian makes a mess out of their journey through time. But sometimes people aren't at fault," she then added as an afterthought. "Wherever there are time turners, there will necessarily also be time turner accidents..." She gazed around carefully, took a small step towards the door in front of them and flicked her wand briefly.

"_Colloportus_," she said with some emphasis in her tone, and the door made an odd, squelching noise. Inside, everything remained silent.

"I don't like this," Severus said suddenly. "From all we learned about Vikings, they are unlikely to visit a wine cellar in order to have a quiet drink while, a few feet away, someone locks them in. I think they are probably..."

"If you say 'right behind us', I shall transfigure your nose into a coat-hanger," hissed Minerva, tapping the former Potions Master's shoulder with her wand. "Come."

She took a few tentative steps in the direction from which they had come, beckoning Severus to follow her. He was with her again in a Dementor-like movement, but when she made to take up their pacing again, the young man suddenly halted again, pointing at another door with the tip of his wand.

"What about this door? Might they have left through here, perhaps?"

"There is just a small room there," Minerva replied curtly, feeling increasingly secure. Wherever the intruder was, it seemed more and more likely that they had managed to capture him within the wine cellar's solid walls. "Mother used to store food in it, but ever since she refurbished the West Wing's kitchen area, we have had no use for it..."

She stopped in mid-track when somethin behind the door suddenly made a clanking noise. For two seconds, she threw a wild look from the door to Severus's face, whose eyes narrowed.

"You heard it, too?"

"There is something in there," Minerva whispered. "Or someone. On the count of three, Severus. One, two -"

...

Finding the old store room deserted was something of a disappointment, although Minerva could not say with certainty that she would have been able to muster enough strength to fight a blood-thirsty seafarer, had one chanced to jump out on them from behind one of the dusty shelves. Severus, in any case, seemed more or less openly relieved to find the room in an empty state.

"Pity," he said pompously, his black eyes quite unnecessarily scanning the floor for signs of life. "Now, will you look at this – nothing more than a dead mouse in a trap, I'm afraid..."

Then, with no more than a cynical 'click', the door shut behind them, bathing them once more in cold and silent darkness. Both wands had turned dark again, due to their owners' shock and a lack of concentration. Minerva felt her feet curl and her back arch slightly. Her body was clearly tempted to transfigure for a blind escape, as happened occasionally when a situation got all too tense. Severus seemed to be battling a similar sensation, although Minerva knew for a fact that he would not transfigure into any kind of animal at any point of his life. This much seven years of teaching him had finally made her realise.

Severus gazed around avidly, his eyes wide and very alert. Minerva remembered that he disliked locked rooms, quickly pointed her wand at his face, and thought, '_Lumos_', at which a feeble cone of light instantly spread on the black cloth of Severus's robes and illuminated the surrounding darkness a little at least.

"It was nothing," she said tensely. "Just the door."

"A door without a handle," Severus observed.

"Well, lucky only one of us is currently confined to using first-year magic," replied Minerva sourly, suddenly not caring whether there was a friend or an enemy waiting for them outside in the corridor. "_Alohomora_."

Against all hope or possible expectations, nothing happened.

"Apparently," said Severus slowly, "some of us do not seem to have managed even the basics."

"Oh, do shut up," said Minerva crisply. "Really, Severus, this is not a good time for bantering. Who is out there?" she then called, hoping that it might be Morgana. When no one replied, she directed her attention to the door again. "_Finite Incantatem_."

Once more, nothing happened.

"Second year magic," Severus remarked. "Standard Book of Spells, chapter seven, if I am not mistaken."

"Very well, very well," sighed Minerva, lowering her wand in exasperation, "I apologise for the unqualified remark on the state of your magic. Can we concentrate on the matter at hand now?"

"Certainly," said the Snape, raising his own wand at the unwavering door. "_Incendo_!"

"Brutal," Minerva said into the ensuing silence. "And ineffective."

"Looks like a rather complex shield charm to me," Severus said critically, ignoring her statement. "Do you still think this is the work of a Viking?"

Minerva sighed again. "I am not sure, Severus," she replied. "This doesn't look like it. But there is someone out there, and whoever it is does not seem particularly friendly, so much is certain."

"Unless it is your daughter thinking _we _are the Vikings," Severus mused. Minerva stared at him and, after a few seconds, permitted herself a small smile. Once again, the young man seemed more of a mind-reader than ever, despite the desolate state of his magic. Despite the tired look on his face.

He was suddenly closer than he had been before. As usual, half the young man's face was hidden under a curtain of black hair, which had always had a tendency to fall over his cheek in disorderly strands. Severus's skin looked paler than usual in the semi-darkness of the room. What little light was coming from the tip of their wands produced strange shadows everywhere, but particularly besides Severus's eyes and nose. Minerva could suddenly feel his breath on her skin – warm, even... entirely comforting.

The former Potions Master seemed to notice the change of atmosphere, too. His black eyes narrowed slightly and the grip around his wand tightened. Otherwise, however, he did not move.

Minerva hardly dared to breathe. For a very long time, they remained exactly like this, silent and unmoving, their faces only inches away from each other...

Then, suddenly, the moment was interrupted. A small sound from outside brought Minerva's thoughts back to the uninvited guest that was roaming the manor's unprotected corridors, and Severus's wand flickered dangerously as a reminder of the fragile state of his magic. He glanced at the door.

"What are we going to do?" asked Minerva quietly, suddenly wondering, whether it had, perhaps, been only her own, misguided interpretation of the atmosphere that had made the moment between them appear so full of suspense – almost erotic... "There are only so many spells you can use on a door."

"Just a handful," Severus replied, sounding casual. "Plus the one we are not thinking of. But if the alternative is sitting here and waiting to starve, I favour the option of continuing to destroy that door, with or without the help of magic."

"Oh, we won't starve," said Minerva tiredly, rubbing her face. "My father will know where we are within an hour. I am only worried about the time-turner being damaged, because such an incident can take ages to undo. _And_ there is the problem of your dependency on it. There are things not even my father can repair – like death, for instance – and a complete loss of your magic might be one of them."

"Explain to me again," said Severus slowly, "why you think the time-turner has anything to do with the fact that there is an intruder in the castle despite a pair of highly effective security doors."

Minerva thought for a moment before replying to this. She had asked herself this question and it was not easily answered without going into detail about the history of this house, for which she felt she had neither enough time nor enough strength at the moment.

"We have had cases in which people entered this house," she explained eventually, "who used to live here or will live here in future and thus use the entrance doors freely. None of them was an actual enemy, of course, but some mix with rather unfriendly people. If these intruders are not Vikings, I imagine they might be a band of drunk teenagers from two-thousand-and-fifty, who are friends with one of my adolescent descendants. This sounds like less of a threat than a bunch of Vikings wielding their battle axes, but I sometimes doubt there is much of a difference between the two."

"I can see why you became a teacher," said Severus drily.

"Battle axes are, in fact, banned from Hogwarts," Minerva replied in the same tone.

"And you are sure your father will know where we are?" Severus then asked more seriously, settling down on a wooden box close to the door. "Because otherwise I am going to try out a few more spells."

"Much though I would like to see that," Minerva replied with a suppressed grin, "it is likely that he will find us shortly. If not him, then possibly his younger self."

Severus raised his eyebrows. "I'm sorry...?"

"Oh, this isn't as complicated as it sounds," Minerva said, lowering herself onto another box, which turned out to be not quite as solid as the one Severus had chosen. "I told you that it is my father's job to clear up time turner accidents and accidental time travelling. Well, he has done so for centuries, so, in a sense, he started working alongside himself because obviously as someone who fixes these accidents, you have to travel through time. He is careful not to have too many encounters with the other Hamishes, though, as it is supposed to be unlucky."

"Deadly, actually," corrected Severus.

Minerva smiled. "Yes, that is the commonly accepted cultural myth these days," she agreed. "But like in many other, similar situations, an awareness of what you are dealing with can actually prevent you from foolish actions such as hitting yourself over the head with the solid end of a time turner. There are several books on this particular subject, conveying exactly this kind of skill to our aspiring practical historians – to cut things short, my father knows how to stay calm when meeting himself, although, as I say, he does not like it very much."

"And he... fixes such time accidents, you say?"

"Yes," replied Minerva in a matter-of-fact tone. "He takes the unwitting time-traveller back home, erases their memory, and, in some cases, creates a time loop, which ensures that, in our universe, the encounter never happened."

"Sounds practical," replied the former Potions Master, looking undecided.

"It makes a living," said the deputy headmistress, standing up swiftly. "What do you say, one last attempt on the count of three?"

Severus nodded.

"All right then. One – two... don't you dare use another _Incendo_, Severus, that door is worth more than your entire potions lab. One – two..."


	24. A Cut in Time

**A Cut in Time**

With a bang, the door opened and a man entered. He was taller than Severus or Minerva by more than twenty inches and wore a bright red uniform with a small court of armour sewed onto the left-hand side of its chest. "BWA," it read in old-fashioned letters and underneath, a wand and a sword were crossed in front of a grey bulb, which Minerva identified as the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's former emblem. Her mouth dropped.

"Goodness, Severus, we are facing a member of the old Wizarding Army... goodness knows, I'll never stop being surprised by this time-turner. Would you be so kind as to tell us who you are, young man?"

"My name is Licinius," replied the man with a broad smile on his face. "I am afraid I destroyed the hallway a little. I was fighting a group of Vikings. Can't seem to learn how to shut them out once I've retreated here."

Minerva frowned. "I assume you are a time traveller?" she said crisply, pocketing her wand again. Severus and the man copied her movement.

"Yes," he replied, still grinning for reasons only known to himself. "I'm sorry... you probably thought I was an intruder."

"We did, admittedly," said Minerva slowly, trying not to seem too curious. "Though it seems that we are lucky. You are an accidental time-traveller, I take it? From the past?"

"From the future, actually," replied the man. His gaze glided over Severus's face and robes and eventually returned to the smaller man's eyes again, which were narrowed slightly, calculatingly. "I am an officer of the newly instated Wizarding Army – oh, whoops!" He clasped his mouth in sincere self-deprecation. "You wouldn't know about that yet... but anyway, here I am. You are Severus and Minerva, right?"

He sounded extremely excited all of a sudden. Severus frowned and gave a curt nod, putting up his most serious teacher's look. "That is correct. Or rather, Professors Snape and McGonagall to you. Hogwarts exists even in your time, I am sure."

Minerva cleared her throat, trying not to grin at Severus's attempting to gain some control over the situation. People never reacted cleverly to this sort of encounter, her father always said. You could not, in fact, react cleverly to this sort of encounter, even if you wanted to.

"I understand," she said firmly when realising that Severus had nothing more to say, "that time travellers are not to make any contact, if possible, with the respective time's inhabitants. As an officer, you are doubtless aware..."

"I know, I know," said the man, still grinning broadly from one small ear to the next. "But g- I mean the uhm... resident practical historian also said it's fine if there is an emergency. And you did think I was a Viking, didn't you? Over there?"

He pointed in the direction of the wine cellar.

"So I _did_ hear correctly!" Minerva exclaimed. "Why on earth..."

"Just making sure some of the buggers hadn't found their way downstairs," the man called Licinius said with a good-natured laugh. "Do you mind...?"

He began lowering himself onto the box Minerva had previously occupied, his movement filling the entire room, but noticing its instability he quickly thought the better of it and rose again.

"Or not. Listen, I'm a little unsure... I'm almost certain I time travelled before, but somehow more than the knowledge that I did never seems to stick. I can't remember what to do in this kind of situation..."

"Wait it out, I'm afraid," replied Minerva quietly, now noticing the man's hair, which was tied to the back in much the same way as Hogwarts students had used to tie theirs, reminding her of more than one person she had once known...

"Great!" exclaimed the man. "We can use the time to exchange as much information as possible. I mean, we're going to forget everything anyway, no?"

"I do not think this is a particularly wise idea," replied Minerva curtly. "I am surprised at your lack of responsibility, officer. One might think that even a wizarding soldier would retain some sort of common sense..."

"Whoa!" Licinius said, taking a small step backwards, which made no difference in terms of perspective. He still looked down on the two of them, but rose his hands in a placatory manner. "All right, all right. I was just... no need to be like this. It was a joke!"

"I certainly hope so," said Minerva raising an eyebrow. A vague sensation of familiarity continued to persistently carve its way into her brain. Whom did this person remind her of...? "But you may come upstairs with us and clear up the mess you caused, of course."

"The Vikings," said the soldier quickly. "I was just fending them off."

"And scared Morgana out of her wits on the way," Severus said approvingly. Minerva gave him a warning look.

"Well, there really was no necessity..." she then began, attempting to give her voice some firmness in order to hide the curiosity that had started burning inside her. She caught herself being unable to take her eyes off the intruder, who, in turn, gave her and Severus exceedingly curious look. Minerva frowned. Licinius was dark-haired and had a friendly, slightly chubby face and sort-of-square glasses that covered a pair of startlingly black eyes. She scanned the visitor's high forehead, his dark eyebrows, and the very familiar facial expressions, comprehension dawning...

And suddenly there was tea. Minerva rubbed her eyes tiredly.

"How long have we been sitting here?" she asked an equally tired-looking Severus. "I feel as though I nodded off for a minute or two."

"Well, it is getting late," said the young wizard in a matter-of-fact tone. "Would you like me to accompany you upstairs?"

"Severus," muttered Minerva, feeling her faces flush, "no, really."

"Nothing but honourable intentions," Severus said quickly. "Naturally."

"Naturally," replied the deputy headmistress. "Say… were we discussing teenage matters just now?"

"I cannot remember what we discussed," mumbled Severus, as though this was not at all to his taste. "Did I just see your father? Over there in the living room? I could have sworn he was winking at me."

"I doubt it," said Minerva softly. "He tends to be in bed at this time of the day. Severus, your over-active mind is playing tricks on you. Your Legilimency is probably forcing its way back into your head after its prolonged absence."

"An explanation well worthy of a mid-seventy witch who deals with pre-adolescent children ninety percent of her time," said Severus dryly, raising from his seat and extending an arm to help her up.

"Severus," said Minerva suddenly, feeling quite serious about this matter, "do you think I am old?"

"I think you have had enough of that liquid – whatever it is. Although it smells suspiciously like tea, I have to say. Are you sure that wasn't your father just now?"

"Might have been my mother," said Minerva tiredly. "She's been up and about all day, trying to get Morgana to join the dinner."

"I seem to remember the conversation in the kitchen," replied Severus, a cynical smile lingering in one corner of his lips. "The dog-collared dress."

"And the hairstyle matter," Minerva added, nodding slowly as she remembered the evening's events bit by bit. "And the remark on your blood status."

"And her apology," Severus added good-naturedly. "Although you really shouldn't have made her. It might have a negative effect on your relationship."

"You leave all worries about my and Morgana's relationship to me," said Minerva sourly. "She really shouldn't have."

"It is unimportant," said Severus, looking uncomfortable.

"So you said," replied Minerva tiredly. "But I still think I can voice objections concerning my own daughter's tone if I want to. And it means you are invited to the dinner now."

Severus suddenly seemed very awake again. "Yes," he said tensely. "It does."

They were ascending the small staircase now, which was leading to the back end of the upstairs corridor. Severus remained very close to Minerva at all times, one hand in the pocket of his robes, with the other one continuing to support her.

"Are you worried?" enquired Minerva curiously, sensing his arm's warmth underneath the black cloth.

Severus mumbled something incomprehensible, which Minerva took to be a sign of his increasing willingness to be honest with her about matters of feeling. She felt a sudden warmth spread inside her and increased her pace, just in case her face was reddening. Severus kept up, but did not look at her for some time. They reached Minerva's bedroom door in silence, parting quickly and without much fuss.

Minerva entered her bedroom alone and at a snail's pace, thinking that she had never felt so happy in her life.


	25. Keeping A Promise

_

* * *

Dear Richard,_

_I'm writing to let you know that I won't be able to make tonight's pub crawl after all. Turns out my grandmother is having one of her snob dinners and I am officially invited, which means I can't back out without losing face. She's so bloody high up in the bloody hierarchy that opposing her would be social suicide. I don't suppose I can do that after what Mum's and Dad's divorce did to the family name._

_Admittedly, just to follow our truth truce, I have been rather intent on staying home these days anyway, particularly on the evening of the dinner ever since I found out that a certain someone is going to be there. Oh, incidentally, what I was going to tell you – I'll have a lot less free time in the course of the next weeks, because my grandparents are currently hosting a special guest who has suffered severe injury from the last war – some kind of battle at Hogwarts, apparently. (Mum won't tell me.) He needs attendance for as long as it takes and will get it from us. Mum's idea, of course. Problem is that, since I live here without paying any rent and stuff, I'm honour-bound to take care of Severus when his usual babysitter (a nurse by the inspiring name of Livius Toke) isn't here for a change. Severus is a pest to look after, but apparently he's got some kind of magical system inside, which will kill him if he leaves the range of the ninth level time-turner my granddad uses for his work. That means he can't leave, is in constant danger of collapses, has read all the Potions books in our library, and been cranky like hell ever since he arrived here. Seriously, that man is an emotional wreck. I keep trying to get him to do something entertaining, but all he ever wants to do is read and eat. Oh, and lately he's started playing around with some weird kind of dish, which he keeps prodding with his useless wand all the time to make silver stuff come out – pretty pathetic, but I'm not supposed to stress him out too much, so I try to remain my usual social self._

_What else is bad – oh, I know. Mum thinks I'm in love with him, so she's getting all over-protective and tries to mollycuddle me – which is actually sweet, in its very own objectionable way – but boy, if I didn't know any better, I'd think she wanted him for herself._

_On a happier note, I'll be able to be in London practically 24/7 next weekend because our house will remain firmly rooted in this time (for a bloody change) and I'll be able to use the floo network to just zap back and forth between Scotland and Piccadilly._

_I'll let you know what happens._

_Love,_

_Morgana.

* * *

_

**Keeping A Promise**

The next few days were filled with work. Minerva had returned to Hogwarts, but informed McGillivray Manor's inhabitants that she would be back for the weekend, if only to make a few last arrangements concerning the therapy sessions with Toke and Severus during her absence. Severus had seemed both, disgruntled that she was leaving without him and nervous about the imminent dinner at the same time. Minerva had reassured him that there was nothing, really, to be worried about, and left in the belief that someone who had steered himself though Death Eater waters would not be brought to his knees by one of her mother's social gatherings.

On the afternoon of the dinner, several hours before the festivities would start, Minerva left her office on the first floor to take a walk around the Hogwarts lake. It was a habit she had taken up years ago, but abandoned for the sake of last minute term preparations when He Who Must Not Be Named had gained power again. Once each term, in the early years of teaching, she would take a look at the ancient castle from the other side of the water, allowing herself one or two hours at its shore either entirely by herself or, like today, accompanied by her best friend and colleague Pomona Sprout.

"One does get rather too comfortable when summoning charms become habit, don't you agree?"

The two women had found themselves a fallen tree trunk close to the water and Pomona had summoned a tray with two cups and a pot of tea. She gave Minerva's observation a solemn nod of agreement, apparently without really processing her friend's words. Minerva left it at that.

"So," said the plump Herbology witch after a moment's luxurious silence, "what is he like?"

Minerva raised her prominent eyebrows. "Beg your pardon?"

"Your new lover," said her friend, a mischievous grin playing around the corners of her small mouth. "Or why is it that you have been glowing with happy pride all afternoon?"

Minerva side-glanced. "I have?"

"Absolutely," confirmed Pomona, lifting her robes a little to expose a round leg, which still featured thick bandages concealing a formerly severed limb. Some things healed slower at an advanced age.

Minerva sipped some tea. The cups and the small teapot were covered in green and brown maple leaves, a little like Pomona's robes, which always resembled the time of year, except during term time, which forced all the teachers into black scholar's robes. Minerva realised that she saw Pomona far too rarely in her usual clothing.

"You will be disappointed to hear that there is no lover," she then forced herself to say. Her gaze did not leave the glistening surface of the Hogwarts lake, which was beginning to look very menacing indeed now that the sun was disappearing behind the Western mountain range, sending only traces of gold across a vast, dark green mass. "Though there is... someone on my mind these days, I'll admit."

It was incredibly hard all of a sudden. For the last six years or so, Pomona and Minerva had shared many secrets and almost all recent events that had occurred at their common working place had been thoroughly discussed, at least the ones which required it. Others had occasionally been ridiculed, more often than not if they involved a member of the other sex. For this reason, Minerva realised, she was finding herself in an unusual and very unplasant situation now, having to conceal Severus's whereabouts to one of her oldest and most intimate friends. She twisted her fingers this way and that a little and pointedly followed the sun with her gaze as it was gliding out of sight. Pomona looked as though her curiosity was going to make her explode.

"Someone?" she persisted.

"Someone – it is difficult," Minerva said tensely. "He is not a lover. He is not a love interest, Pomona. Please don't look as though I'll have to mop you off the floor if I withhold this bit of information. There is something I promised I wouldn't tell anyone, so I can't, I'm afraid. But the situation at home is... complicated and I'll be extremely grateful for any organisational support you can give me once the term has started."

There was one thing to be said about Pomona Sprout – she was an excellent best friend even when her inborn curiosity was disappointed. She dutifully promised to assist with any tasks school life usually held, including exceptional ones, seeing as this year was likely to be the first in almost three decades without an imminent threat looming somewhere on the horizon. She also, of course, continued to look curious and excited about the fact that there were news and that her instincthad led her in the right direction, conversation-wise, but she did not press the matter. Minerva suddenly felt immensely grateful for this.

"Would you like me to do the Quidditch timetable for you?" remarked the Herbologist as though in an off-hand manner. The two witches exchanged a glance and Minerva caught herself responding with a sudden smile. She was usually reluctant to give up this particular privilege, but she had said she wanted help and Pomona would know that the Quidditch timetable was definitely a more delegable task. Doubtless, the inner conflict would have been entertaining to watch – had there been any. She told her friend that she was sorry, but the timetable had been finished some time ago, along with the decision who was to be the new Gryffindor Quidditch captain. Pomona grinned.

"I didn't really expect to get a shot," she admitted. "But you keep complaining how it is the greatest workload of them all, so I thought I should ask."

"I never complained," said Minerva sternly.

"True, you didn't," her friend replied. "But back when Severus was still alive -"

And she stopped.

This was it. The moment Minerva had been dreading.

She could live with the knowledge that people supposed Severus dead. She could live with her colleagues acting as though he had never existed. But the pain in Pomona's eyes was real, though she averted them quickly. It was a cold and dreadful pain. Pomona, like Filius, like all the others, suffered from Severus's death as much as Minerva herself had, not too long ago, suffered from Dumbledore's. Should she have to subject her best friend to this kind of pain? Was it not easier to let her best friend at least in on the burden she was carrying every day of her postwar life now that Severus had so unexpectedly joined the number of homebound problems she usually carried? The temptation was great, Minerva admitted, and took a few quick steps away from her and Pomona's previously comfortable seat.

"Let's go," she said stiffly. "It's getting cold. September again, I suppose."

"Yes," Pomona hurried to agree, getting up with some difficulty because of her injury. "Let's return. There were some things I wanted to get done before the staff meeting tomorrow. Incidentally, did the headmaster say he was going to be there?"

"I hope so – for his sake," Minerva replied darkly. "We shall have to discuss quite a few things. I cannot believe the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher has not arrived. It seems things are going to continue exactly as they used to be before the war. The position was not cursed by You Know Who. It is a curse in itself."

They passed Hogsmeade Station in silence. The road, on which the Thestral-powered carriages would take the students to the castle the following night, gave way to a trodden path, which lead towards the shore. The witches followed it until they arrived at the little pier, where Hagrid had dutifully positioned the first year boats in preparation for their annual usage.

"Strange to think that school life will continue as usual," Pomona said quietly, letting her gaze glide over the now unlit water surface. "What with our number of students being reduced to just barely two hundred."

"There are plenty of first years," replied Minerva, as quietly, her hands in her pockets. "Trust me. I wrote the letters."

"As every year," mumbled Pomona distractedly. "I was wondering, you know, when we passed the graveyard just now. There are so many losses... will things really be like usual? Can they?"

"It is not our aim to make things as they were," said Minerva quietly. "Our new headmaster is planning to bring an entirely new breeze to this school and I must say I agree. We have had quite enough experimenting already. Hogwarts will benefit from a new direction in leadership, don't you agree?"

"I thought last year's new directions were quite enough to last for a lifetime," Pomona said, shaking her greying curls. "You know, I must have gained ten pounds of weight over the worry of not letting the Carrows get too near to my Hufflepuffs."

"You don't say," sighed Minerva. "I was never more relieved that the Weasley twins were gone. Mind you, their sister Ginny was hardly any better, of course. Proud though I am of Longbottom's and her efforts to keep the school spirit up – I wish they had not taken quite so much risk of personal bodily harm for the mere sake of keeping everyone in good spirits. The number of time I had to speak to the headmaster about them because one of the Carrows made me – the number of times he had to pretend to punish them..."

"It is odd, is it not," said Pomona, visibly nervous about the conversation drifting back to the topic of Severus, "that he pretended... all this time..."

"Had to," said Minerva automatically. She turned her gaze towards the forest, intending to continue her way. Pomona followed suit. "You know," the deputy headmistress then said, careful to give away only that kind of detail which she could have heard from young Potter or one of his friends, "I think he was more worried about our safety than we all give him credit for. He certainly worried more about me being tortured for information, in case he let me in on his secret, than about the risk of me challenging him to a duel, possibly killing him in the process."

"Well, it was his job to live on the verge of death, of course," Pomona replied, sounding would-be-casual. Minerva gave a tense nod.

"Not to mention his Slytherin arrogance telling him that he would win such a duel no matter what," Pomona added with a forced smile, leaving unmentioned the fact that Severus had a tendency to win duels, no matter how arrogant his colleagues had always deemed him.

When they arrived at the little door leading through the Hogwarts wall onto the grounds again, she produced a small, blue key, which glistened in the upcoming darkness, and eventually sprung from her hand to insert itself into the door's rusty keyhole. Minerva turned it twice.

"Incidentally," continued Pomona when they crossed the vegetable pitch, "I am sorry to bring the topic up again, but I have been meaning to ask you for a while now – where is Severus's grave situated exactly? I was looking for it the other day, unable to find -"

"Hold on," Minerva said, stopping in her tracks and staring ahead, then pointing at Hagrid's dimly lit hut. "Hagrid is… _home_?"

"He must have finished with his chores," Pomona said doubtfully, scratching her neck. "As I was saying..."

"Let's pay him a visit," said Minerva quickly in a voice of high-pitched fake cheerfulness, her steps quickening. "Knowing him, he will be delighted to have company at this time of the year. No students to illegally visit him after hours."

Pomona sighed.

"Fine," she conceded, deciding against the retrieval of information and in favour of the upholding of a pleasant mood, "but not too long. I have not overseen the common room cleaning yet and House-Elves are often rather sloppy with everyday tasks not related to Gryffindor or Slytherin."


	26. Hogwarts

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the length of this chapter. I just don't know where to make the cut, so I'll leave it as it is. The next one is shorter. It already exists, but needs some more editing. Thanks for your feedback, everyone. It is fascinating for me to see that people are still interested in this story even after what I realise has been almost a year now. Thanks for letting me know that you're still there!

* * *

**Hogwarts…**

When Minerva returned to her private quarters for the first time after leaving for breakfast this morning, her thoughts were running in no particular direction and, for a lack of something else to do, she suddenly marvelled at the wonders teachers, students, and governors had worked on the building in recent months. Large parts of the stone walls had been reconstructed with newer bricks and the construction magic's manifold sources remained prominent through a constant tingling everywhere that was quite unlike the soft and pleasant hum in which Dumbledore's spells and enchantments had always encased the castle.

Minerva's quarters were on the first floor, rather close to her office, something which she had proudly worked towards since the beginning of her career back in the fifties, when she had still had to come down to the Great Hall from the seventh floor each morning to take breakfast. The position of the deputy headmistress bore privileges – as did that of a headmistress, of course, or… _would _have. Minerva tried not to think about it.

Having arrived at her quarters, taken off her shoes, and placed herself squarely on her four poster bed with her bag lying next to her on a dark blue bedspread, the ever-worried deputy headmistress considered for a few moments whether she should pay her parents a floo call to see if things were working out smoothly between them and their permanent resident. But no, she had decided to remain away until the next weekend and surely both, her mother and Severus would be thankful to have this to rely on. After all, people's presence could be a nuisance as well as a pleasure, depending on how often one saw them in everyday life.

Just for a little while, Minerva's thoughts lingered on her parting conversation with Severus, who had offered her some of his liquorice tea, but very few kind words concerning her imminent departure. Minerva thought she knew very well what was going through the younger man's head these days. Severus loved Hogwarts, despite a rather unhappy early childhood spent in the castle's occasionally gloomy corridors. He loved the school with a passion and he had loved his job with a passion, because if you did not, teaching several groups of twenty-three to twenty-eight teenagers each day, sometimes as much as six or seven in a row, became completely unthinkable, especially at the ridiculously low amount of pay currently offered to secondary level boarding school teachers by the Ministry of Magic. Severus, like Minerva herself, like Pomona, like Filius or any other Hogwarts professor, was a teacher with all his soul. His illness had taken this away from him and Minerva did not doubt for a second that he was suffering from this just as much as she would have.

Severus's gaze had shown all this when he had shaken her hand for the last time before she had stepped into her mother's living-room fireplace. His mouth, as usual, had kept things a little shorter.

"Give my regards to Dumbledore's portrait – when no one is listening."

"I shall see if I can find a spare moment to break into the headmaster's office," Minerva had replied, and then, realising just how much she would miss this, exactly this, in the course of the imminent term, heaved a huge sigh of regret. "Oh, Severus… Hogwarts will seem quite empty without you."

"Wait till the current headmaster pushes through his no-portraits policy," he had replied, his face unfathomable.

Minerva squirmed, thinking that if there had been a medal for hitting weak spots, Severus would have been the most highly decorated teacher in Hogwarts history. Yes, Belby's continuously unwise suggestions for an 'improvement' of the teaching environment made her profession a little difficult at the moment. Indeed, the only positive side about not returning to the castle at this point seemed to be the luxury of not having to deal with the so-called 'new breeze' the headmaster was trying to bring to the school. Planned alterations included, among other things, a drastic reduction of the number of portraits hanging in the corridors, the very ones Dumbledore had _added, _in the early days, in order to have an additional layer of security to fend off possible disasters resulting from unruly student activity.

Well, things at Hogwarts were simply going to be a little more complicated than usual this year and Minerva had jealously watched Severus engage in pleasure reading and basic potions brewing (also known as 'cooking') instead of having to prepare for all the changes in the school's administration that had awaited Minerva upon her return. All Severus had to worry about, really, was his imminent attendance of Vesta McGillivray's dinner while concealing from the world (or the socially relevant part of it) that he was still alive. Not an impossible task, compared to some of the things Belby was likely to put her through, Minerva found.

There was also, of course, the matter of Lucius Malfoy. The man had been meddling in affairs to do with the school routine and related issues, including an attempt to solve the wizarding society's problems with antisocial behaviour ('Death Eater airs and graces', as cynics liked to call the phenomenon) by introducing compulsory summer camps between fifth and sixth year – or something. Minerva had not been fully filled in on everything that was going on – as usual. That was to come later, some time around the start of the new term, if the new headmaster was to be trusted, and for once Minerva would insist on not being excluded from matters, which potentially concerned Hogwarts safety. For once, she had decided, she would meddle. She would analyse. She would prevent action before it came to a fight – or a war.

Lucius Malfoy then. Too present, too powerful, too ex-Death Eater for Minerva's taste. But what could be done, if the Ministry of Magic considered his continuing engagement in social affairs appropriate? Who got a say in these matters nowadays anyway? Kingsley certainly seemed to make a lot of very objectionable decisions, despite the high hopes everyone had had for him after the end of the war. Malfoy was at his side constantly (namely the one Belby did not occupy) and the air around them was very stale, very manly, very full of stale and manly decisions, all 'for the good of wizardkind', apparently. And the headmaster had still not called a staff meeting. On the last evening before the students' arrival!

After some more pondering, Minerva grabbed her bag and placed it on her lap, rummaging around in it in search for the map that the Multicoloured Quill had once drawn of McGillivray Manor and its surroundings. She found it at the very bottom, slightly crumpled but still perfectly legible.

"Let's see how Severus is doing," she mumbled to herself, thinking that she needed to see that someone was enjoying life this evening, or at least that she was not the only one in trouble. The young man's situation was a little paradox, she realised. Only the topmost individuals of pureblood society would be attending the dinner, the very ones who spread rumours for a living. Yet, Severus would move among them, pretending that he was not actually alive, wearing the perfect and most obvious disguise provided by the special circumstances of her parents' way of living. It was a trick her mother had used more than once before in order to disrupt society by imposing her will upon it. (This was the reason Minerva had long predicted her course of action with regard to Severus's attendance to this dinner, of course.) The former Potions master would be introduced as his time-travelling self, one of those who roamed the halls of the manor on a frequent basis without anyone taking much notice. Vesta McGillivray was known to host the most peculiar guests from all sorts of centuries and Severus would be able to bathe in the glory of his war heroism without having to tell a single witch or wizard that he was, in fact, still alive.

Minerva smiled to herself and briefly considered a brief night stroll in Pomona's herb garden when something on the map suddenly caught her attention. Two dots labelled "Vesta McGillivray" and "Diana Warrington-Selwyn" were lingering in the main living-room of the West Wing, unmoving, while other dots were situated in the dining-room and the hallway, but always in groups of three or four. They were moving and interacting much further away, very outside the reach of the warming fire, which their hostess had doubtlessly lit amidst her recently upgraded 19th century hangings, carpets, and furniture. The kitchen, Minerva was surprised to see, contained only two people.

"Severus Snape" and "Morgana McGonagall" seemed to ignore the festive occasion, as it were, and had apparently taken up private chatting in the kitchen instead of joining the crowd during dinners. Minerva's hands clenched just a little tighter around the edges of the parchment, crumpling them unnecessarily.

Then, suddenly, the dots moved. Minerva could almost see the scene before her inner eye, Morgana asking continuous questions, pestering and plaguing until the man carved in – or more. Who knew? Who could tell what the two were up to when she was not in the room? And – why was this relevant again? Then, suddenly Minerva pictured herself from a bird's perspective: a seventy-year-old divorced teacher, spying on her daughter and her ex-colleague, unable to take her eyes off either of them as they left the kitchen, apparently tired of talking, or, she thought, interested in other leisure time activities. Surely they _had to_ be aware that one could not just leave a pureblood dinner table for too long without being the topic of every single witch's and wizard's conversation within days. The two dots moved towards the staircase, which led to the first floor of the East Wing, vaguely in the direction of Morgana's bedroom. Minerva shut her eyes briefly, forcing herself not to follow them any further. Instead, she suddenly discovered "Livius Toke" lingering in the dining room at a certain distance from the other guests. She stopped for a moment, wondering whether it had not been the nurse's greatest wish to join the dinner and then decided that he was probably having trouble to adjust. Her mother and her friend Lady Warrington-Selwyn, in any case, seemed so deeply involved in their conversation that Vesta was forgetting her duties as a hostess. Minerva thought this was very unusual for her, wondering what important subjects her mother might be discussing with the lady. Minerva remembered her as quite snobbish, not particularly intellectual, and, of course, very English in everything she did. The two women provided an interesting pair of opposing personalities, which, in another universe, might have resulted in extremely entertaining conversations or even bantering. As it was, Vesta McGillivray and her social acquaintances tended to be incredibly tedious.

It was with surprise, therefore, that Minerva noticed Toke approaching them a short while later, as though determined to change his outsider status by one hundred and eighty degree – at full risk of failure. You had to hand it to him, he was determined, probably driven by social ambitions as they were often found in Slytherins of his kind. Not the career types, but extremely obsessed with the pureblood hierarchy.

Having lost track of her daughter and Severus, Minerva put the map aside, engaging in some more pondering of what the next few weeks might bring. Lessons were about to start again, of course, bringing a very singular type of challenge with them this year, but she had already revised her usual syllabus a little to adapt to the new situation of classes consisting almost entirely of war survivers, who were likely traumatised by their experiences and unwilling to engage in any kind of conversation much.

"Did you really lead all the statues and courts of armour into battle, Professor McGonagall?"

"Did You-Know-Who really finish himself off with his own spell?"

"Did the previous headmaster really pretend to be evil and then double-crossed the bad guys at exactly the right time?"

"Did Harry Potter really save the day?"

Everyone except the new first years, of course.

Minerva did not know, later on, how she survived her first day back. The general mood among the students was one of cautious quietness and, occasionally, distrust. The teachers were overall behaving as they usually did, with the exception of Pomona's visible injury and Sibyl Trelawney's constant complaint of a lack of crystal balls resulting from the Ministry's unwillingness to grant any additional funding after all necessary repairs had been finished on the walls and around the castle. During the traditional feast, headmaster Belby had made a start-of-term speech, which sounded forced in comparison to Dumbledore's wit and impish in comparison to Severus's "tojours-pur"-ridden announcements the previous year.

Come to think of it...

Minerva stopped, in the middle of a crowded corridor, marvelling how she could not have guessed. How she could not have seen just how much Severus had actually enjoyed the irony of preaching blood purity to a bunch of children who were unaware of his own blood status and actual loyalties. How could she have overlooked that, had Severus _really _been on the Dark Lord's side, he would not have gained half the pleasure from all the pretence – the show he had undertaken in the course of his headmastership.

Had he grinned to himself during his speech? Despite the danger? It sounded like the kind of situation Severus would enjoy. Risky, on the edge of disaster, depending on nothing but his skill and presence of mind to keep up the pretence and everyone safe. What a Gryffindor he would have made!

"Are you feeling alright, Minerva?"

Of course, her restless mind did not remain unnoticed for long.

"Septima," she replied absently as her overweight colleague hobbled towards her, parting the crowd of students who were heading back to their dormitories, "thank you for asking. I admit I was allowing myself to ponder over a sudden thought just now. Nothing important, though. I hope you enjoyed dinner as much as I did?"

"Hogwarts food has never been better," replied the Arithmancy witch with a satisfied laugh. "Say, Minerva, should we perhaps have a staff meeting at some point? Not that I'm complaining about the extension of the holidays, but it does seem odd to just let the school year begin without… well…"

"Without arranging matters amongst ourselves first?" suggested Minerva with a sigh. "Yes, there ought to be a meeting, and I told the headmaster months ago that he would have to set a date and call everyone in a lot sooner than this, but… well."

"I am sure most of us will be in the staff room later on," Professor Vector hinted. "Maybe you could just take matters into your hands? You know the drill and all… better than any of us, but most importantly," she hesitated, then came closer to whisper in Minerva's ear, "better than Belby."

And she backed off again, suppressing a snort of conspiratorial laughter with visible difficulty.

Minerva sighed again. The last thing she wanted to happen was for people to think that she was playing unfairly against a headmaster who was only just getting acquainted with the school routine.

"Perhaps," she suggested, "we should get the headmaster to call an official meeting."

"Excellent! How?"

"Suggesting it in a way that he will think it was his idea," Minerva mused, always on the lookout for eavesdroppers. The students seemed uninterested in their conversation, however, and no other teacher was in sight.

"You have always been good at making people think your ideas were actually their own," observed Septima Vector promptly. "This task was made for you."

"I am the deputy headmistress," Minerva reminded her. "Most tasks would appear to be made for me."

Septima Vector snorted, but then disappeared in the direction of the library, leaving Minerva alone with this. She had been increasingly alone since the appointment of the new headmaster, Minerva noticed. Even her colleagues seemed to think that she would best cope on her own. Had this been different when Severus had still been there? She could not say.

Unsurprisingly, the person who seemed to have the least trouble dealing with the post-war situation was Pomona Sprout, who told her students that hard-work was the best way of keeping meandering thoughts occupied and that sticking together at times like this had helped their parents live through the previous two wars. Minerva did not even attempt to live up to this attitude.

For the most part, in any case, her Gryffindors were behaving quite normal. Some of the previous year's OWL candidates and a few NEWTs students had decided to come back and repeat the year, while a select group of others would be permitted to take their final exams around Christmas, without much prior preparation – Hermione Granger among them, of course, who had known all the relevant Transfiguration spells and enchantments by the end of autumn in her sixth year. All in all, however, the number of Gryffindor students had not reduced as drastically as that of other houses. Slytherin appeared severely thinned out, Ravenclaw had lost some of its most brilliant minds to other wizarding schools and, in the case of two former seventh years, to Nyköping's early starters programme. Apparently, the battle of Hogwarts had been but the last straw for them. Her Gryffindors were more homebound, more determined to finish what they had started – some more than others, of course, and some to an almost obsessive extent, very in line with old Godric's philosophy, if history books could be trusted. (Some could, in fact. Her father had done a study recently, together with a colleague from the 24th century, and they had found that almost twenty percent of all history books ever used as a general reference at Hogwarts actually sprouted correct dates and facts.)

Occasionally, during the next couple of days, Hermione Granger turned up in the Great Hall right before or after dinner, questioning her former head of house about the Transfiguration practical's exact requirements. On Friday evening, somewhat later than usual but still in time to catch a glimpse of the semi-filled Great Hall, Miss Granger had a particular request. Minerva had just left half a plate of scrambled eggs for the House-Elves to clear up, thinking that she felt generally not as hungry as she had before the holidays, when the familiar bunch of brown hair appeared near the hall's giant entrance doors. As usual, Minerva waved the young woman towards the staff table, knowing that she would politely decline any offers of food.

"Miss Granger," she said when the niceties had been observed, "you seem rather worried about the exam after all. I seem to remember you went home rather satisfied two nights ago?"

"I have a new question, Professor McGonagall," said the girl tensely. "Not about Transfiguration this time. It's a bit embarrassing, though. I am not sure how to ask..."

"No need to be embarrassed," said Minerva kindly. "The NEWTs are nerve-wrecking enough for people who don't take them under these very special circumstances. I told you to ask anything and I shall try to be of assistance as much as I can."

"Well, this is about Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione Granger tensely. "You see, Professor, it's not only the final year that I need to revise. The one before wasn't very structured either..."

"I thought you had Professor Snape teaching you that year," said Minerva in surprise. This was the first time she had ever heard any complaint about Severus's lessons being unstructured. "Did you find his lessons were not sufficiently transparent?"

"The few that we had were fine," replied the young woman, pulling a folder with some hastily scribbled notes from her bag, "and they were definitely practical enough – not that I haven't done enough practical Defence Against the Dark Arts during the past years to last a lifetime..." She smiled nervously.

Minerva decided to permit herself a brief smile in return. "Are you really worried about your final Defence Against the Dark Arts exam, Miss Granger?" she asked, taking the folder out of her opposite's hands, scanning a few pages quickly. "These seem fine."

"I am just worried that I'll prepare for the wrong things," said the girl vaguely. "I know a lot of scattered stuff, which doesn't really fit together."

"I am sure the examiner will take into consideration that your lessons were equally scattered," sighed Minerva, handing back the folder to its owner. "She has done so every year since the job was cursed. In fact, Professor Dumbledore used to advise the students not to structure their Defence preparations too much, or the examiners might get confused. Of course," she conceded, "this might have been one of his jokes. How is Mr. Weasley, incidentally? I hear he has started helping his brother with his business in Diagon Alley?"

"He has," confirmed Miss Granger distractedly.

"He is a very supportive person," said Minerva conversationally, "despite many social shortcomings. I am glad he has you to rely on now."

The girl's eyebrows knitted. "Me to rely on?"

"Young men like him need a woman to stand by his side," said Minerva wisely, remembering young Weasley's constant need of help and his continuing inability to make the right decisions in situations of serious personal conflict.

"Professor," said Hermione Granger earnestly, letting her folder disappear in her bag again. "I don't think I am particularly well qualified for general counselling on the difficulties of life. Isn't it a rather outdated notion that a man should always be able to rely on his spouse? A bit like from the times when men never had to grow up and do their own laundry because there was always a wife or a mother to rely on?"

Minerva stared at her student, surprised at the unusual level of familiarity evident through the plainness of the girl's question. There were two ways to reply to this. One would expose Minerva's personal views on marriage and partnership, which, now that she came to think about it, were perhaps not on a par with contemporary wizarding standards, the other option was more comfortable. More familiar.

"You will find, Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress and very much secondary school teacher, "that some notions are not quite as outdated as your generation would like to believe."

"Yet, I am told frequently to 'look after' my boyfriend or to 'see that he gets regular food', or to 'dress him properly' by members of your generation," Miss Granger replied wisely. "Not that people my age can't be just the same. As a generation, we are very good at disguising our conservative views, I think, particularly among witches and wizards. Muggles not so much."

"That is fascinating," said Minerva, her curiosity piqued. "I always thought Muggle youngsters and our kind were about the same by now."

"You don't know very many Muggles then," laughed the girl. "They have developed in a very different direction from us. They are more… flexible when it comes to social roles."

"Yes, wizarding society can be a jungle," said the deputy headmistress, reminiscent of her mother and her intrigues. "But one learns to steer around quite successfully in it. Say, Miss Granger, if you do not intend to make your partner happy in the traditional way, what would you call the main goal of your relationship?"

"No goals," said the girl pensively. "No roles. We're in the process of giving each other enough room to develop some more, I have to say, but in the end," she sighed, "In the end I would like to see each of us standing on our own feet and 'make the other happy', as you put it, only as a pleasant kind of supplement. Know what I mean?"

She reddened slightly and was moving her hands in nervous circles to emphasise her words in the way students did when trying to describe something to someone obviously wiser and more experienced than they were. It was a gesture of someone who was hoping for an 'Excellent, Miss Granger, ten points to Gryffindor' kind of reply.

"Very much so," said Minerva therefore appreciatively, "I am glad to see that, as usual, you know exactly what you want and how to get it."

In the seclusion of her private quarters, however, hours later when everyone else was likely asleep, Minerva could not help going over her conversation with this young woman again, wondering whether she had been the same at that age and, if so, why her own marriage had not taken a more desirable course then, particularly since Topaz seemed so much like a less teenage-minded, seventy-year-old Ronald Weasley.


	27. and Home

…**and Home**

Conversations with Hermione Granger, occasionally involving Pomona Sprout, the glasshouse terrace, and some Darjeeling refined with Erumpent milk became Minerva's favourite pastime activity after working hours. These served partly as a replacement for her former evenings with Severus in the years prior to his headmastership, and partly as a new version of her former meetings with Pomona, who was radiating confidence and joy (at least temporary surges of it) wherever she went. She had already asked Miss Granger to call her by her first name – returning the favour, of course, while Minerva had watched this development with the necessary detachment. Officially, of course, Miss Granger was not quite out of school yet.

"You think too much in terms of academic knowledge," Pomona told her in the privacy of her greenhouse terrace, six weeks into the term, a warming spell around them against the chilly autumn weather that had come up just in time for the older students' first Hogsmeade weekend. "I sometimes think you aren't capable of seeing students as anything but little boxes who need us to stuff as much knowledge into them as possible."

"I daresay all of us experience times where we do not see our students as anything but our everyday work," Minerva had replied. "I'll admit that I seem to be experiencing more of them as I grow older. And a deputy headmistress needs to be more factual than warm-hearted sometimes. It is something I have been working towards, of course."

With Pomona, she felt she could loosen up a little in the greyness of everyday life. Pomona usually understood. They had known each other for so long that both felt entirely secure in the other's presence – with the possible exception of incidences where Pomona suddenly started discussing other people's sex life. She was like that sometimes.

"I don't have those days," Pomona said, as quietly. "But exactly that disqualifies me from an administrative position, of course. And I really think you should relax a little. The war is over now. People will expect you to go back to normal eventually."

"Are you back to normal?" Minerva enquired.

"I am trying," said Pomona quietly. "And the students certainly are trying. Most of them seem rather interested in Herbology again now, I am pleased to say. I had our sixth years create magical fertiliser for my Indian rubber trees the other day. It went surprisingly well."

"Oh, you want to create erasers?"

"That too," Pomona said with what Minerva knew to be her naughtiest grin. She refrained from making further enquiries.

"I have been… reluctant," she said instead, "to return to my usual routine just like that, without comment. Frankly, I am attempting something new."

Pomona seemed interested, Minerva noticed, and therefore continued. This, she had not shared with anyone yet. But perhaps that had been a mistake.

"I have been planning my lessons a little differently this year," explained the deputy headmistress. "Two thirds I spend with Transfiguration, but the remaining third I have the students talk."

"About their experiences with the Death Eater reign?" guessed Pomona passionately. "What a wonderful…"

"No," said Minerva quietly. "We discuss abstract concepts. Elements of human life. Guilt, fear, cultural paradigms, ethics, responsibility, HPrphatred, love…"

"With all your classes?" Pomona enquired. "Even first years?"

"Yes," Minerva replied. "In varying degrees, depending on the students' age and house. I sacrifice almost half the lesson in Slytherin-only classes, sixty percent, perhaps, in Gryffindor ones. Yours and Filius's are easier to deal with, mine and Horace's are more hot-headed, I would say."

"Traditionally," replied Pomona. "You know, this sounds actually very useful. You think I should do that in my classes?"

Minerva hesitated for a moment.

"No," she then said. "This is my way of helping the students – yours is different and I believe the two aren't compatible, though equally important. But I do think they should be able to come to you and talk to you whenever they feel the need. Officially, I mean. It seems to me as though a student who would have a need to talk would most likely come to you."

Pomona beamed. "I so want them to," she said. "Poor darlings… We should advertise that on the notice boards in the other houses."

"We should talk to the headmaster first," said Minerva quickly, knowing how to keep up a necessary hierarchy. "He seems rather intent on these things being run by him before they are made official. Very unlike Dumbledore, of course."

All in all, it had turned out that some of Belby's influence was actually very valuable. On Lucius Malfoy's persistence, the Ministry had decided to grant Hogwarts additional funding for security purposes, for example, now that Dumbledore was no longer there to take all the responsibility onto himself. This meant, among other things, that teachers were relieved of some of their night-time patrolling and homework supervision duties in the afternoons because the corridors were being patrolled by night time guards (or, effectively, Aurors-in-training who got on their superior's bad side). Minerva enjoyed this additional free time at equal pay and used it, as promised, to organise additional visits with her mother, father, daughter, and, of course, with Severus during weekends.

When she returned home for the first time on the last weekend in October, Minerva found the manor in a seemingly deserted state. According to Vesta McGillivray's recounts, Morgana had taken to spending the evenings in pubs all across the South of Scotland again, despite her new job, and Severus tended to spend his free time alone in the library or, alternatively, in one of the manor's many living rooms – for study purposes.

"He has been unusually quiet these past weeks," Minerva's mother told her daughter in-between doors, being in the middle of her autumn cleaning. "Morgana tends to wind him up when she is here. I can hear them shouting from almost everywhere in the house. But other than that, I must say I am pleasantly surprised. He is not a very complicated guest."

Minerva, glad to have found someone to talk to in the deserted corridors of the West Wing, nodded lightly. "I wasn't sure whether you would welcome him," she said. "But we had no choice, of course."

"You know," her mother continued conversationally, "he is quite intelligent for a Halfblood. Only the other night we were talking about social power and he did have some valuable ideas concerning the pureblood society's attitude towards personal friendships. I can see why young Malfoy speaks so highly of him."

"Young Malfoy?" Minerva replied, raising an eyebrow. "Are you talking about Draco?"

"Don't be ridiculous," said her mother sternly. "Lucius Malfoy, of course. Abraxas's son."

"I was wondering," said Minerva quietly. Draco Malfoy had been the number one topic of conversation within pureblood society for a short while, but these days his name only turned up in conjunction with Europe's first wizarding university in Nyköping, whose coordinators had been happy to accept one of their main sponsors' only son without a completed set of NEWTs.

"I grant that 'young' may not be the best choice of wording here," Minerva's mother now conceded. "Excuse the habit. Did you know that your friend Severus and youn- and Lucius Malfoy used to be best friends before both decided to publicly erase their involvement in the last war? Or attempted to, anyway. I hear that they are building a Severus Snape memorial just across the Hogwarts lake now. Word got out that he was unusually active in the fight against the Dark Lord."

"Please don't call him that, mother," Minerva said quietly. "I believe 'You Know Who' is the acceptable version these days. Everything else sounds too... well, they are still looking for remaining Death Eaters, of course – and Death Eater ideas. Kingsley and his Aurors, I mean."

Her mother nodded. "So I hear. I wonder why no one has enquired about your friend's body yet, though. One might think people would remember his remains as well as his supposed heroic deeds."

"They were heroic," Minerva prompted. "And people do remember – far too often for my taste."

"There are rumours that he is still alive," said her mother. "Of course people would be interested. Minerva felt her jaw drop.

"Rumours… but how… who spreads those? Who could possibly…"

"Where there is a war hero," said her mother wisely, "there will be rumours. See it as a tribute to your friend's deeds."

Minerva shook her head. "Where there is no body there will be people who spread foolish lies."

"I was under the impression that your friend is still alive," stated Vesta McGillivray wisely. Minerva frowned.

"Well, yes. But you know what I mean. Who knows what kind of story is attached to those rumours."

"I did hear something about light from the sky and the riding of a giant snake towards a glowing infinity," her mother informed her.

"Not typically one of Severus's leisure time activities, I hear," Minerva prompted.

"Personally," her mother replied, a little more earnest than before, "I value his social insight most. Such an inspiring mind."

Minerva could not fend off a smile. She was not surprised that Severus had some knowledge of the pureblood family lines, as well as an opinion on their ways of socialising. It was what he had always been good at, watching people and analysing their behaviour. This was also, she presumed, what had kept him alive during his years as a spy. And it was equally unsurprising, of course, that he managed to impress her mother with these skills. Vesta McGillivray's strongest suit was her ability to keep a lot of people socially tied up, which made her a very important figure in wizarding pureblood society. Once again, Severus seemed to have made a very powerful friend.

"How did the dinner go?" Minerva asked.

"Oh, exactly as planned," her mother replied, pleased, it seemed, about her daughter's interest in social events. "Thank you for enquiring."

"Severus's presence?" Minerva prodded.

"Very well received," said her mother smugly. "We introduced him as pre-war Severus Snape, a time-traveller who jumped exactly two years. We said that we had to keep him here for a few days due to a time-turner accident back where he comes from, such accidents having an effect on all affected times, of course. People tend to believe this kind of thing easier than stories about purposeful timetravel, you kn-"

"And how did the dinner go for him?" Minerva cut in. "Did he get along with Lady Warrington-Selwyn?"

Her mother raised both eyebrows, reminding Minerva of a vulture being transfigured into an owl. "Diana? Goodness, Minerva, if you think she speaks to Halfbloods, think again."

Minerva wanted to ask 'Why do you surround yourself with such people, mother'? But, of course, 'such people' was what the wizarding society consisted of. Death Eaters were, in effect, just the children of said people, who suddenly acted out on opinions that had been voiced for decades. Minerva therefore contented herself with conveying through her facial expression that she did not agree with this kind of policy.

"The boy did get along surprisingly well with Morgana, though," said his mother kindly, noticing her daughter's disapproval. "I have to say I was pleased to see the two talking so intimately. I did get the impression that they were not particularly fond of each other previously and I have to say that things tend to get very turbulent when they are around."

"You mentioned it," Minerva said stiffly. "What else?"

"Young Toke made an impression, I must say," said her mother pensively. "He is bold, but it suits him. True Slytherin blood, of course."

"I saw- _thought_," Minerva saved, "that he might have some difficulties adjusting to the situation. This was his first dinner, I take it?"

"The first of this magnitude," her mother nodded. "He held up surprisingly well, I must say. Enquired about Diana's peacocks, which is always a good subject with her – Merlin knows how he learned about them… but that is the beauty of social gatherings, of course. You never know what to expect. Oh, incidentally, young Snape has thanked me, in the polite manner that he has, for the opportunity of meeting his old friend Timothy Nott. The two got along ever so pleasantly before young Nott had to leave for an urgent call from the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"The Department of… _Nott_?" said Minerva slowly, comprehension dawning only now. "Mother, this isn't 'young' Nott, we are talking about, this is convicted Death Eater Nott, isn't it?"

"False charges," her mother replied. "Apparently. His family is very renowned in the…"

"Mother!" snapped Minerva. "Are you out of your mind? No wonder there are rumours about Severus if you let him put him together with people who have been friends with him for years. Also, you _cannot _socialise with convicted Death Eaters, rehabilitated or not, while Kingsley is on the lookout for anything that's still contaminating our society!"

"I believe you will find that I can socialise with whomever I please," said her mother coldly. "But I can ease your mind. Young Malfoy –"

"Stop calling everyone young, mother. Malfoy is older than Severus."

"It is a means of distinguishing him from Abraxas," replied her mother smoothly. "But very well, _Lucius_ Malfoy vouches for Nott's innocence and that is good enough for me."

"Is it?" sighed Minerva. For the first time in several months, she had the impression that the wizarding world was just going to continue exactly where it had left off before the Death Eaters' rise to power. "And what does Severus have to say on the matter?"

"As I say, he was pleased to engage in chats with his former associate," replied Vesta McGillivray thoughtfully, "although he did seem uneasy at first, doubtless because of the long time that has passed since they last saw each other. Wars can be ever so interruptive of social interrelations. People tend to lose touch with each other…"

"…if one is imprisoned and the other goes into permanent hiding," Minerva added cynically. "Really, mother, I sometimes wish you wouldn't keep ignoring people's shortcomings simply because it suits your social networking best. And I suggest we don't repeat this. If Severus wants to stay hidden, he will have to live without your dinners for another while. Where is he now, incidentally?"

"I presume that he is occupying his usual armchair in the East Wing's living-room," replied Vesta McGillivray, looking displeased about her daughter's meddling. "Although it might be that he chose to sit on the balcony. No, not that one. I refurbished the first floor terrace-like construction atop the inner yard – the one that is supported by the 18th century columns. Ah, the weather is ever so much warmer than it was last year around this time. Oh, by the way, would you join me at dinner around seven o'clock, please? I have something important to discuss with you."

Minerva nodded. With a strange feeling somewhere inside, which suggested that there were few things, really, that her mother and your average Death Eater would disagree on, she proceeded through the hallway and into the East Wing's small living-room, her mother heading off in the opposite direction, calling the House-Elf.


	28. Minerva Miraculous

**Minerva Miraculous**

The moment she entered the small, rectangular room with its many bookshelves decorating the back walls, Minerva realised that something was wrong. Her mother usually kept all parts of the house embarrassingly clean and Mawly, the House-Elf, double-checked every room more than once a day in terms of cleanliness to make sure her mistress's expectations were met. All the more surprisingly, the flat coffee table on which not even vases were allowed to stand usually, was littered with tiny pieces of broken glass. The couch looked as though someone had stood on it, possibly jumping up and down, leaving large footprints on its beige surface.

A few feet away from the couch, next to more splinters and shards of what looked like broken runes, the body of a black-haired man was lying, motionlessly, on the carpeted floor. Minerva needed a second to take in the sight before her, then thrust herself forward, ignoring the splinters, and took the man's head, which she turned, to look into a pair of half-open, unglittering eyes. Even as she patted his cheek, they continued to stare into nothingness like a pair of endless, black tunnels, all life behind them seemingly extinct.

"SEVERUS!"

Next, there came a hiss from the fireplace and the sound of ash being brushed off someone's robes, but Minerva did not look up. She was suddenly back in the Shrieking Shack, her heart pounding, her thoughts racing around a single question: how and why had Severus been killed – this time?

"MUM!"

Another witch was in the room now and slowly, with desperation, Minerva pulled herself out of her déjà-vu stupor.

"Morgana – what happened?"

"I went to Hogwarts to find you!" screeched the younger witch, her face and hair filthy with ash and what looked like stray strands of mist, clearly of magical origin. "I didn't know you were gonna be here! He fell… he stumbled… the Pensieve, it's…"

"…broken," whispered Minerva, staring at the shards, comprehension dawning. "Morgana, what happened?"

"The silvery stuff attacked him!" Morgana squealed. "He didn't stand a chance. Had his wand out quicker than anyone I've ever seen, but it just zoomed at him, smashed his head… he didn't stand a chance!"

"Calm down," Minerva said sternly, feeling her own breath coming in quick, consecutive gasps. "Pensieve magic is deceptive, which means he is likely not quite as dead as he looks. I need… Toke. Now! And if you come across your father in St Mungos, bring him, too!"

She was not entirely sure what had made her say it. Toke was a nurse, not technically fit to look after Severus in his current state. Topaz was a healer, but specialised on Quidditch injuries and thus equally unfamiliar with the technicalities. Somewhere deep inside, however, Minerva knew that she needed a healer's competence in this, whose main loyalties did not lie with the Ministry of Magic. Deep inside, a little voice reminded her of the fact that even Dumbledore had avoided the topic of Legilimency in the presence of Ministry members. The instinct of keeping all matters related to the Pensieve secret had got the better of her. And, of course, she needed Toke. There could be no doubt.

Seven minutes later, the fireplace hissed again and Morgana returned with her father and the young, blonde nurse in tow, the latter of whom looked as though he had been in the middle of a nap when Morgana had found him.

"Where is he?" Topaz McGonagall exclaimed loudly before he had even set foot out of the fireplace and into the room.

"Over here," said Minerva calmly, dipping a wet piece of cloth into a summoned bucket. "He is breathing normally. I moved him into the recovery position already, but he is still unconscious."

"Why did you not ask for Moody?" Topaz enquired, approaching Severus with a look of supreme importance on his face while taking out his wand.

"I wanted someone who could judge the situation for what it is," said Minerva simply. "Good morning, Mr. Toke. I apologise for the new emergency…"

"Not _your _fault, I am told," replied the nurse, earning himself a chastising look from Morgana. Minerva stored the implication of this in the back of her mind and approached Severus again.

"What caused this?" enquired her ex-husband now, tracing Severus's forehead with his wand for diagnostic purposes.

"Broken Pensieve," came Morgana's voice from behind Toke and she indicated the shards around her. "Misty-stuff-attack, sort of."

"A Pensieve?" The healer raised his head, looking worried now. "Minerva, you know this is not my area of expertise. I'll call Moody. She is much more adept –"

"No!"

There was a moment's silence, in which ex-wife-and-husband looked at each other in a mini power struggle. Topaz, clearly, was fighting his instinct of acting without considering Minerva's opinion. Minerva, on the other hand, was fighting her instinct of slapping some sense into him.

"I don't want Moody," she then said. "I want you to look after Severus. I want Morgana and Toke to come with me and search for a solution. And I especially do not want any hospital officials to hear about this because I seem to remember there is a limit to the obligatory healer's confidentiality when it comes to matters of wizarding security, namely Legilimency matters. I might be wrong, but I won't risk anything that might get Severus behind bars as long as there is a chance of reviving him without the help of St Mungos' Ministry-abiding specialists."

Topaz raised his hand like a pupil whom the given situation has given about a thousand questions, which he would like to have answered, but Minerva ignored it. The important thing now was that he watched over Severus, seeing to that the younger man's breathing didn't stop.

"You do realise that I am in the middle of my shift?" Topaz remarked when Minerva, Morgana and Toke made to leave the room.

"I do," replied Minerva softly. "And I appreciate this greatly, Topaz, you have no idea."

And gone they were. Out of the living-room and up the stairs. Morgana headed for Severus's room, as Minerva had anticipated, Toke stood around, looking a little helpless.

"Search the library," the deputy headmistress told him. "I shall see if I can find my father. He has some knowledge of Pensieves, if only rudimentary. At least he will know which books to consult."

Toke nodded and vanished. Before Minerva could continue her way, however, Morgana reappeared on the doorstep of Severus's room, wielding a book in her hand, which was bound in black leather and carried several golden letters on its cover.

"_Basic Legilimency_," read Minerva when Morgana thrust it into her hands.

"Neat, hu?" Morgana said excitedly. "I bet there is a chapter on Pensieves in there!"

"We can't possibly acquire all basic knowledge on Pensieves in what little time we have," mumbled Minerva, already flipping the pages. "But let's see, perhaps there is something in here about Pensieve accidents. One usually needs some sort of replacement initially…"

"I'll go and see if I can find something big enough!" Morgana said excitedly, disappearing through a door that led to the upper levels. Minerva blinked, not even thinking of calling the young witch back. Instead, she felt her fingers clench around the book unnecessarily, she realised, and very inappropriately, since they were pressed for time. Granted, Morgana did seem unusually interested in Severus's rescue. She had always been hyperactive, of course, but usually, when she knew that her parents were close by, Morgana tended to pull out of dangerous situations just as Minerva had always taught her to. The deputy headmistress shook her head, attempting to drive out all off-topic thoughts. How inconvenient. Even as she was fearing for Severus's life, needing all her concentration and powers to save him yet again, her suspicion somewhere deep inside that Morgana was harbouring feelings for Severus, who was, after all, roughly her age, would not go away. The signs were clear. Morgana cared. More than usual. More than Minerva wanted her to. It was impossible to miss.

Toke returned a few moments later and, in his wake, the slender figure of Minerva's father, who was fiddling with two scrolls of parchment, trying to open one and read the other at the same time.

"Minerva."

"Father, thank goodness!"

The situation was laid out within a moment. Hamish McGillivray listened and nodded and produced sounds of astonishment where appropriate. He did not look quite as nervous as Toke or Minerva herself, which was vaguely reassuring to his daughter, despite her awareness that even _if _her father had any knowledge about this situation resulting from his work with time-turners, his attitude did not necessarily mean that Severus would survive. Hamish McGillivray did know the imminent future occasionally, owing to his moving back and forth in time and bumping into his past or future self on a constant basis, but he tended to be extremely rational about most things, including deaths. And you never knew – perhaps a Pensieve accident was enough to switch off Severus's theurgic system once and for all?

It took all the experience Minerva had ever had with the subject of time travel to not ask the very question that was burning inside her at this very moment. Instead, she put up a would-be calm expression and pointed at the scrolls in her father's hands.

"Are these on topic?"

"Aye," said the old man simply, handing her the second scroll. Minerva surveyed it with uneasiness.

"_Muggles' Memories_," she read, "_A __List of Noteworthy Facts_. Is this contemporary?"

"More or less," replied her father with an apologetic smile. "Nineteenth century. May help you understand."

"How… how Severus's brain works?" Minerva said, slightly appalled, "you mean it works like a Muggle's while his magic is gone?"

Her father nodded, not seeming to think this required any kind of elaboration. Minerva sighed. This was useless. It was not enough. He was not letting on enough. But of course that was his job, and of course he was not allowed to. She had been taught this ever since she had been old enough to pronounce the word 'time-turner'.

"I don't know what to do, really," she told her father, despite herself. "I have one of my vague ideas, but it is possibly very dangerous and I don't want to… I can't…"

"They usually work," observed her father, looking out of the window rather too pointedly. Toke greeted this with a small grin. Minerva sighed again.

"Do you think I should take him to St Mungos with this?" she eventually decided to say. It was already clear from Hamish McGillivray's behaviour that he knew more about this situation than he let on, but she had to try. She added, because she was only human and the thought of Severus dying was suddenly uncomfortably present in the back of her mind, "He isn't in any imminent danger, is he?"

Her father put down his scroll, giving her a sad, slightly exasperated look. "Minerva!"

"Please…" The words failed her. Hamish McGillivray closed his eyes for a moment and then put a hand on his daughter's shoulder.

"You'll make the right decision," he said without looking at her. "You always do."

Minerva made to reply, but her father turned and walked quickly into the opposite direction without turning, without any further explanations. She realised that he had said more than he could already and that following him would get both of them into an extremely uncomfortable situation. Having to erase your family's memories or creating a time loop, even, constructing a new timeline in which you never told them anything about the future in the first place was not one of a practical historian's more pleasant duties.

"Let's try and use this knowledge," she said to Toke, who had been standing a little apart the entire time, and was scratching his grubby, blonde hair now, wearing a supremely nervous look on his face. He nodded and they returned to the living-room, where Topaz was still examining Severus with great care.

"I think that I know a way out of the situation," said Minerva quietly. "And my father thinks I should take it through."

She sounded more secure than she felt.

"Sounds good," replied the healer. "What are you planning to do then? Use a new Pensieve?"

"Exactly," replied Minerva. "I read about this and I am quite confident that my idea might work. We'll need an extremely powerful magical object with a round opening first…"

"May I ask a question," interrupted Topaz loudly. Minerva stopped in mid-sentence.

"Of course."

"You are looking for an object that contains magical power," said Topaz slowly, "I deduce from this that he has not been able to produce any magic of his own?"

"On the contrary," prompted Toke. "He's been lifting furniture the other day – and people," he added as an afterthought, looking a little sulky.

"In that case, Minerva," mused Topaz, "I must inform you that you are running risk of destroying the patient's theurgic system, if you…"

The fireplace lit again and Morgana entered the room, taking a shortcut from upstairs.

"I couldn't find a single object that doesn't repel outside magic," she complained. "Grandma uses anti-hexing charms on them and I still haven't figured out how to get around…

"It doesn't matter," said Minerva quickly, scanning _Muggles' Memories_ for further ideas. "I think I know what we are going to do. Your grandmother is going to hear about your using the fireplace as an indoor shortcut, by the way. That's not what we built that staircase for."

"You ought to consult a healer," Topaz's voice came from the corner and dread began to creep up again, somewhere inside Minerva, but mostly of what was to follow if the Ministry got wind of the stolen Pensieve and of Severus' practising Legilimency right under their noses. She realised that she was worried not only for Severus's future, which he would probably spend behind bars if the Minister for Magic was thus inclined, but also for the future of Slytherin house. Finally, at long last, some people in very important positions had realised that not all Slytherins always wanted to wage war against the government, and now she was to tell them that Severus had been experimenting with Legilimency when the practice had been strictly outlawed in 1945, after the previous wizarding war? Not likely.

"We are going to try my idea first," she said, suddenly realising that the decision was hers to make. She stepped towards Morgana and Toke and took one hand each to bring them together. "This bit of magic may or may not affect Severus negatively, but it seems clear that he does need a Pensieve if he is ever to regain consciousness. Now, give me your other hand, Morgana. Mr. Toke, yours too, if you please."

"Minerva," said Topaz slowly, obviously beginning to realise what his ex-wife was planning. "I don't think the matter is as simple as this."

"Nonsense," replied Minerva sternly, linking her daughter's hands and the nurse's like those of a couple about to be wed in the old style of wizarding society (namely by means of an Unbreakable Vow). "I know what I am doing, believe me. In fact, I know _exactly_ that I am doing the right thing – for a change. We are going to produce an artificial Pensieve by moving these shards' magical properties to a round object of considerable power. The higher the object's power, the more likely it is that Severus will be able to use it without much of his own limited magic. Where is the highest power in this room apart from my own and yours? In your daughter's hands and in Toke's. They will be the Pensieve. I will be the bridge. You will watch Severus."

"And what makes you think this is the right solution?" Topaz enquired, suddenly getting up. "Is this some sort of gut reaction again? Your 'female instinct'? Do you realise that you could kill this man with your attempts to push through your own ideas?"

"Don't question me, Topaz McGonagall," snapped Minerva indignantly. "Sometimes it would do you a lot of good to just trust my instincts. Now, I need you to stabilise Severus while…"

"This is not your call!" interrupted Topaz, grabbing her shoulder. "Minerva, please, be reasonable. A specialist…"

"…will sell Severus to the Ministry of Magic and land him in Azkaban for the rest of his life for the use of unlicensed Legilimency!" Minerva snapped.

"He is a war hero," Topaz reasoned. "People will look past this!"

"He is a multiple murderer!" Minerva snarled. "People will be all too happy to remember his bad side if they learn that he's been prodding around in their brains for the past twenty years!"

There was a short silence. Both, Topaz and Minerva held each other's gaze in a mixture of contempt and appraise for the other's stubbornness.

"Trust me," said Minerva quietly after a short while, "please. I do know a little bit about these things."

Topaz remained silent and then, slowly, gave her a miniscule nod. Minerva beamed and pressed his hands, eager to convey a sense of thankfulness…

"Are we going to get a move on with this?" came Morgana's voice from the other end of the room. She and Toke were still holding hands as though it was the most natural thing in the world, waiting for Minerva to take charge again. The ex-couple turned and Minerva made another decision without quite realising it. She stepped over to the other side of the room towards some of the bigger Pensieve shards and picked one up for investigation. After a few seconds, a gentle hand appeared on her shoulder and Topaz stood very close, radiating supportiveness and warmth again. Minerva half turned her head and indicated the shard.

"This one will do."

"What makes you think Morgana's magic isn't going to kill him?" Topaz enquired, "or Toke's?" He still sounded doubtful. Minerva grinned, suddenly aware that her plan was not as half-baked as she had initially believed.

"The fact," she replied slowly, more calmly than before, "that we are inside a ninth level time-turner field."

And with this, she placed the Pensieve shard on the table, pointed her wand and spoke the incantation that would transfer the former Pensieve's power to Morgana and Toke – a simple copy and paste incantation. They were actually quite fun to do, especially if the magic copied was way beyond your own capabilities. It was like drinking your first sip of wine at the age of fourteen only to find out that it is a grown-up drink you better stay away from for another few decades or so. The shard shivered for a moment and then laid quite still, losing some of its gleam. After this, nothing happened.

"Great, mum," remarked Morgana bitingly. "You managed to make a piece of glass float for a second. How much do they pay you at Hogwarts again?"

"Uhm, Morgana," intervened Toke with a slightly worried look, "I don't know what was supposed to happen, but I'd say the spell went pretty successfully."

"What's that supposed to mean – oh." Uncharacteristically, Morgana was lost for words. Completely on their own accord, her and Toke's arms had been locked and twisted to form a perfect circle, molten together like two pieces of marshmallow. The air between them seemed to whirl around an invisible centre now and strands of silvery mist, which none of them had noticed there before, were gravitating towards the new Pensieve's invisible centre.

"The spell binds you together so that our provisional Pensieve doesn't break accidentally," Minerva said quietly. "Are you feeling alright, love? Mr. Toke?"

"Course," replied Morgana grumpily. "And you knew that we would. You've seen this before, haven't you?"

"As a matter of fact," replied Minerva vaguely, "there was this one incident with Professor Dumbledore all these years ago, but I never… not really… well, enough of this now. Let me see if we cannot bring Severus back to life."

She approached the motionless figure of her former colleague, not entirely at ease. She had not told them everything, and would not until the process was completed – until Severus was back on his feet again. With a complicated movement, she lifted the man's head a little and patted his cheek.

"Severus," she said quietly, "your Pensieve is whole again. You can… use it now."

No reaction.

"_If I don't wake up on my own accord, once the provisional Pensieve has been crafted_," said the memory of Albus Dumbledore loudly and very clearly inside her head, "_there is one way, and __only__ one way to get me back on my feet. I'll need magic. Lots of magic from an outside source. It will provide me with a map, in a sense, which will lead me back into the conscious world again. It's easy, Minerva. All you have to do is…_"

"Come closer Morgana, will you? Yes, you too, Mr. Toke, obviously. Step across Severus – that's right. That will do."

"_You will grab my wrist and stick your wand into the provisional Pensieve as deeply as you can, understood? The deeper you plunge into my "thoughts", so to speak, the more likely you will be able to find me in there._"

Minerva plunged. There was a scream and the noise of something falling down beside the door, then silence.


	29. Inside

**Inside**

"Severus?"

"Me?"

"You."

"You?"

"You."

"So there is me – _and_ you?"

"Correct."

"There should not be."

"So I realise."

"As do I. Perhaps there is just me after all."

"Or perhaps not, since you would hardly tell yourself that you realised again. Let me see… there is… you. Hot-headed, agile, resentful."

"You are resentful?"

"No, this is _you_! I am not that. There is you and there is me, and you are resentful, whereas I am… this."

"Teacher."

"I am 'teacher'?"

"Yes, I am a teacher."

"No, but there is me, see, who is 'teacher' – and many other things, if I may say so – and there is you. You are a teacher, but you aren't 'teacher'. I'm not you. I'm me, Minerva."

"So I am…"

"You are Severus. You are Professor Snape, best friend, protector, scholar, loyal follower… You are so many things! I can sense them all! This is the strangest sensation…"

"What?"

"I think I can feel what you feel, Severus."

"And what is that supposed to be?"

"Your… well, there is so much that isn't mine… so much resentfulness, if you'll excuse…"

"Hey! Stop sneaking around!"

"I am not!"

"You are! And I know because this game can be played both ways, if you please. This bond is very much two-sided."

"Oh – oh, that's what it is, a bond?"

"Apparently. It is rather curious."

"I agree. I don't suppose I have ever been this close to anyone."

"Except for the headmaster?"

"No, no. We never got this far. It never came to this… as I realise you just realised."

"I realise."

"Hm."

"Hm."

"Very odd indeed."

"Indeed. You know, I have never quite seen Morgana from this perspective."

"Morgana? What?"

"Morgana. My… your – your daughter."

"How come the first thing you talk about when we are one is Morgana?"

"Is this a joke? You are full of her. She is here, everywhere."

"That must be the magic. She is acting as a stand-in Pensieve with Mr. Toke."

"I don't see Toke anywhere. I see Morgana. Daughter, closeness, warmth, love."

"You… I… I see… oh, I see. Well, that is me, I suppose."

"That's you. And this is me. Feel me? Standing over here."

"Where?"

"Here, oh blasted amateurs. Wait, I'll see if I can give you a little visual help…"

***

Minerva was suddenly no longer surrounded by darkness. There was a faint light coming from a place she identified as the centre of something – the centre of the space around her. The odd sensation of having herself mixed with Severus's self was slowly dying down and gave way to another, more immediate feeling: she felt lonely.

Suddenly, the vastness of the space around her seemed dark and depressing, although she knew for a fact that this had to be some kind of imaginary space Severus had created to make the situation feel more real. He was an Occlumency expert, after all. He was bound to be able to expel people from certain parts of his mind or to make them see something that was not actually there if they successfully invaded his inner sanctum.

Minerva took a few tentative steps forward and realised that she was treading on grass. Around her, looming in the darkness of what was apparently supposed to be a night, were four giant towers, decorated with four gigantic flags, each featuring a massive crest with a black and white animal on it. With a gaze backwards at a slowly forming skyline of very familiar towers and battlements, Minerva realised that Severus had 'led' her to the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, a place that would be familiar to both of them, due to their annual involvement in the fight for the Hogwarts Quidditch cup, and also the one part of the castle grounds that had not been completely destroyed by the war's last battle – although she was not sure Severus realised this.

In the middle of the Quidditch field, surrounded by nothing but darkness and silence, lingered a fine, silvery shimmer just above the ground, which Minerva did not recognise as anything but a bubble of light initially. Carefully, putting one foot in front of the other, she approached the spot, which then turned out to be a sleek spider-like creature sitting on a boy's hand, who looked up when Minerva entered earshot and pulled his face into an unfathomable smile.

"You."

"And you," replied Minerva simply, sitting down next to Severus on the grass. "What are you doing here?"

"Holding on to a thread," Severus whispered, staring at the spider in his hand.

"What is that?" Minerva asked quietly, unable to take her eyes off the creature. "Is that… a Patronus?"

"It used to be my Patronus when I was this age," whispered the boy, letting the spider crawl across his wrist and over his bare arm. "Now it is just a trace. The… last trace."

"Your magic," whispered Minerva in awe. Severus nodded.

"The accident…" mumbled his former colleague, slowly comprehending, "the Pensieve… did you crash it?" Severus hesitated for a small while, then nodded again.

"Toke seemed to suggest that… well, that Morgana…" Minerva began, but then stopped, not wanting to voice her actual suspicion.

"She is not the one to blame," said Severus quietly. "We were fighting, I wanted to prove a point."

"You look like an eleven-year-old," Minerva replied, not wanting to ask about the origin of the fight. "Why is that?"

Severus shrugged. "Appearance means nothing. It seems, ah, safer to grant no one but children access to this specific part of my mind. Despite the existence of atrocious exceptions like Sirius Black, they are still the most innocent of all human beings."

He gave her a meaningful look, which Minerva decided to ignore.

"Do you not want to leave?" she probed instead.

Severus appeared reluctant. "This needs protection," he eventually said, indicating the spider, which had now reached his shoulder and attempted to crawl under the cloth of his school robes. "I have no wish of spending the rest of my life as a Muggle, so I shall stay as long as it takes."

Minerva remained silent for a while.

"I shall stay with you then," she said eventually. "As long as it takes."

They sat in silence for a while, watching the spider crawl up and down Severus's body and across the dark turf around them.

"I wish Mr. Toke was here," said Minerva after a while. "He might know a way to strengthen your magic without you having to spend your time unconscious."

"I have no doubt that he is devising a cunning rescue plan as we speak," Severus replied dryly, not taking his eyes off the spider. "I don't suppose you told them what exactly they signed up for?"

"They are grown-up human beings," said Minerva quietly. "The severity of the situation will be clear to them."

"For as long as it takes?" Severus said mockingly, making the spider bop up and down a little, just for the hell of it.

"For as long as it takes," Minerva nodded, convinced that this was true.

"Your daughter will be pleased," Severus remarked. Minerva noticed that his mouth was dry and that his eyes hardly ever met hers. Whatever Severus had constructed here, this boy was not his own invention. Never would he have chosen to present himself like this in front of her. Then again, it did seem rather unlikely that Severus's Snape's true self was, in fact, a teenage boy.

"Why is that?" she replied after a minute's or so irritation about his speaking of Morgana again.

"Why, it always seems as though this kind of closeness is something she values," Severus said vaguely. "Don't you think?"

"I daresay she'd prefer a different partner," Minerva replied stiffly.

Severus raised an eyebrow in what Minerva thought to be mock surprise. "You think?"

"I am sure of it," she replied sourly. "I am convinced that there is someone very specific she would prefer to Mr. Toke at this very moment."

"Well then," Severus mumbled, "I cannot argue with your convictions, of course."

And they fell silent again. Minerva watched the boy's movements and admired the spider, which, despite the occasional blur, did not shift or change as your average Patronus did. It remained very solid, very one size, and very faint. A sad sight, really.

"I am surprised to hear that your Patronus wasn't always the same," she said, deciding to force some conversation on him. "What shape does it take these days?"

"A very personal question," said Severus sleekly. "Would you answer it in my place?"

"Why," said Minerva slightly amused, "I tend to assume most people who have attended my class will have no difficulty guessing."

Severus looked puzzled, then the corners of his mouth curled into a miniscule smile. "Of course."

"Including you."

"Of course."

"I have never seen yours, though. Never, in so many years of co-working, have I seen you send a message or fend off a Dementor, Severus."

"For good reason."

"Are you embarrassed?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Why would anyone be embarrassed about a Patronus?"

"I have met quite a few people who thought their Patronus was not on a par with their usual standard."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed," Minerva whispered, recognising with a surge of happiness that his increasing engagement in the conversation had a miniscule but visible effect on the size of his Patronus. The spider was growing. Severus had seen it, too, though he did not seem to understand what was happening.

"How did you find me?" he asked after a small while, seemingly unsure what else to say. Minerva frowned.

"I was under the impression that you constructed all this, Severus."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said earnestly. "I could not work mind magic with this pathetic little amount of magic left in me." He indicated the spider again, which hopped up and down for a little while and then settled down a few feet away from them, sulking.

"Maybe," said the deputy headmistress crisply, "but we are in your subconscious, so it would not have been very difficult to find you."

"You are in my thoughts," replied Severus in a matter-of-fact voice. "Which in itself constitutes a severe intrusion into my privacy, if I may add. But my subconscious – well, let's just say that there is a place you won't get to 'visit', if I have a say in it."

"You can trust me," said Minerva automatically, and then, when Severus returned nothing but a thoughtful look, "I do not wish to snoop around, of course."

The spider had swollen to the size of a rugby ball now and was hopping up and down the turf, rather like a limping dog in want of a playmate. Severus watched it with a doubtful look on his pale face. Was he embarrassed? If there was a blush on his gaunt face, Minerva knew she would not have been able to make it out. Colours were indiscernible in what little light was left on the Quidditch Pitch, most of which was radiating from the spider Patronus. The silvery animal had crept up on Minerva now and was trying to put its fist-size head on her lap. She got up quickly, thinking that some things were just not worth it.

"Did you see anything uncomfortable?" Severus asked now, ignoring his Patronus for a change. "Any memories you will want erased as soon as we're out of here?"

"No," Minerva replied and Severus relaxed visibly. "Except…"

His shoulders tensed again.

"There was a girl," Minerva said, suddenly remembering the faint memory of one of Severus's few childhood friends standing somewhere close to the edge of the forest, for no particular reason. "Lily Evans, if I am not mistaken. Though, to be fair, we should be calling her Lily Potter these days, albeit your personal problems with her husb- what? What is it?"

Severus's gaze had darkened so much that it seemed as though he was going to jump up and strangle her any moment.

"Is there anything wrong, Severus?"

"You know," managed the boy, swelling with anger, "it is one thing for you to see memories that are none of your concern, but you might refrain from putting your finger in open…"

He stopped. Minerva stopped, too, staring at the spider, which had been swelling at an unparalleled speed all of a sudden, but come to a halt when Severus's anger went up in smoke over his surprise at it. The Patronus was now the size of a small cow. Severus gazed at Minerva and back at it.

"I do believe your magic has every intention of coming back," the deputy headmistress remarked.

"It hasn't changed a bit until you arrived," Severus replied in astonishment. "And now it's developing at stop speed. Your presence does seem to have quite an effect."

…on you, Minerva added in her thoughts, not sure why this was important. Aloud, she said, "Severus, I think we ought to try and return to real life. Your Patronus – your _magic_ seems to be doing fine, no matter whether you are here to protect it or not. And the longer I stay, I feel, the greater the danger of me invading your privacy quite unintentionally."

Severus gave her an unfathomable look. And suddenly, his face was gone.

Several beams of a glistening, white light shot down on them, taking Minerva's breath away and making Severus, the Quidditch Pitch, and the Patronus fade from view. Minerva outstretched her arms and felt around for Severus, who seemed to have stumbled backwards against something white and soft. Minerva identified it as a blindingly white Death Eater robe when the light gave way to a softer glow after a few seconds. Whatever had just happened, it had made the Quidditch Pitch disappear and provoked a complete change of scenery. Both, Minerva and Severus were surrounded by Death Eaters in white robes and masks, who were holding their arms outstretched threateningly, closing in on them. Severus looked almost as though he was about to panic. A voice from somewhere within the light whispered names Minerva was unfamiliar with and made noises she had never heard before. Then, abruptly, the show came to an end.

Severus was sitting in the middle of a muddy place, graveyard-like, surrounded by five Death Eaters in their usual attire, facing the person whom Minerva had always called 'He Who Must Not Be Named', initially because people reacted less panicky to the expression, and after a while because, in the end, the man's true name stood synonymously for his atrocious crimes.

Severus was looking up and into the Dark Lord's face with a strangely distorted expression now. His own face was strangely hollow.

"Potter," the whisper suddenly voiced and Minerva realised that it came from the Dark Lord's mouth, "Potter then…"

"Minerva," croaked Severus, "perhaps it is time…"

When Minerva grabbed Severus by his wrist and pulled him away from the group, he squirmed a little, but managed to get onto his two feet and allowed himself to be pulled out of harm's way. The Death Eaters moved in slow-motion, the air around them felt thick and stale. Minerva dragged the boy across the graveyard-like ground and a patch of grass, watching something silvery-white appear almost exactly where Severus's Patronus had previously been. Occasional glances back told the middle-aged witch that her running was not futile. The surroundings seemed about to collapse and swallow everything in sight. Wherever Severus's magic had fled to, it had left only a trace of mist – or perhaps the shape that was forming now had not sprung from Severus's own magic at all? Minerva stopped, turned, and stood as though rooted to the ground.

A bunch of silvery-white strands shot out from the centre of the white mist, creating a net of silver and white within the total darkness. The spider, Minerva thought, was doing its job, but it was not alone. The threads, which were now shooting in this direction or in that, took varying shapes, sometimes tentacle-like, sometimes as though carried by birds, unseen, somewhere in the darkness.

And suddenly Minerva knew that her plan had worked. Suddenly, it was entirely clear what she had to do. Getting Severus out of here had been a very good idea after all, because everything else was suddenly no longer her own sole responsibility. Severus's magic and strength lay in the hands of Morgana and Toke now, who had joined forces and come to her and Severus's aid.

It was all quite exciting.

Upon realising that her strength was returning, though Severus's was not, Minerva made another decision and pulled the boy into her arms to gain some more ground between them and the fight of black and silver behind. With a howling stretch, like a ghost emerging from its grave, part of the silvery-white mass broke lose and followed them, obviously as a means of protection. Whether this was Severus's magic or her own or, indeed, Morgana's or Toke's Minerva could not say. Within seconds, an agile, silvery cat was lighting their way, running beside Minerva until they reached the entrance to Hogwarts and what Minerva hoped was the bridge to reality. Its head inclined and its tail very erect, the cat observed the two escapees as the light of the dawning day absorbed them: a tiny speck of silver in otherwise complete darkness. It was the last Minerva saw of Severus's subconscious. After that, everything went dark once more.

Minutes later, the two motionless shapes of Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape, who were lying on top of each other in the first floor living room of McGillivray Manor, stirred again.


	30. Tea and News

**Tea and News  
**

Neither of them knew, exactly, what had happened the moment Minerva's body had collapsed on top of Severus's, her wand still lying loosely in her white palm. Morgana had screamed, Toke had tried to wriggle free to help but found, to his great dismay, that his hands were still glued to Morgana's sweaty ones, while Topaz had dropped his wand, but quickly gathered himself and jumped to Minerva's aid. Minerva and Severus, too, were glued together now as though by the force of the magic they had put to work. In addition, a silver strand had begun to form in the centre of the artificial Pensieve. It passed through Minerva's fragile body like a ghost and was finally absorbed by Severus's black hair. It would have been an unnerving sight to watch the fine traces of silver brush his temples and then disappear into nothingness, but no one really paid attention to it. Topaz's hands touched Minerva's head with supreme care and then slumped hopelessly to the carpet, the last of his confidence draining.

"They are dead," he said earnestly, making all colour drain from Morgana's face and Toke begin to tremble all over.

"No!"

As it happens, thoughts travel a lot faster than social situations can unfold, especially if magic is involved. It was therefore that both, Minerva and Severus came to less than a minute after Minerva's collapse, both looking confused and exhausted and, in Minerva's case, visibly disturbed. Morgana would, in later years, describe this moment as the worst of her life – "except for the time when Richard pretended to have a girlfriend after we'd just lost the Quidditch cup to some minor team of dunces who got the Snitch by pure chance only, and anyway, that year was crap all in all".

The first thing Minerva therefore heard was her daughter's horror-stricken, 'No!'. The second thing was a response to her and Severus beginning to move again:

"…or not," said Topaz and a warm hand placed itself on her forehead. Minerva frowned at him, only slowly beginning to realise what had happened.

"I'm sorry?"

"Mum!"

With a cry of relief, Morgana pounced on her mother from behind, clasping her sinewy neck and shoulders firmly in her magically freed hands. Toke laughed nervously and helped Severus to his feet. Everyone looked slightly befuddled.

"You did it," giggled Morgana excitedly. "You brought him back!"

"Best as I could," mumbled Minerva tiredly. "Is there tea?"

"I'll make some," Toke offered. "What kind?"

"Darjeeling," said Minerva with a side-glance at Severus. "And give it a touch of liquorice."

Toke nodded and vanished, dragging Severus behind, who muttered a quick excuse and followed. On cue, Morgana went after them.

"How did you do it?" enquired Topaz then, as they were suddenly alone. "You never used to show much of an interest – or aptitude in medical matters, I have to say. But this is astonishing…"

"You are the healer," Minerva told him, as quietly as before, watching Morgana embrace Severus in the corridor, who threw an uncomfortable look back at his former colleague and pushed the girl away with some determination. "I… I suppose, am the best friend."

"So much is clear," replied Topaz, smiling lightly. Minerva allowed herself to return the gesture.

"I notice that I cannot stay away even for a few days without your daughter wrecking mayhem in this house," she observed.

"_Our_ daughter," said Topaz smoothly, "behaves just fine. She's the epitome of liveliness. I see no fault in her behaviour."

"I know you love her," Minerva sighed. "Merlin knows, she, too, worships the ground you walk on."

"How _did_ you do it?" her ex-husband pressed on. Minerva heard the awe in his voice and accepted it as a token of his appreciation.

"I pulled him out," she said quietly, her thoughts elsewhere. "But really, there wasn't much to do but run, er… in the metaphorical sense, of course. Shall we join the others in the kitchen?"

Topaz's gaze suddenly clouded.

"There is something I have been wanting to discuss with you, actually," he said tensely. "Now is as good a moment as ever, even though I didn't expect to see you again so quickly. Do you think you could spare a few minutes?"

"Certainly," Minerva said, pulling her last remaining strength together. "What is it?"

"You'll have heard about the most recent dinner?" Topaz enquired. "The one Lady Warrington-Selwyn hosted at Selwyns' Estate just outside London the other night?"

"Mother keeps me updated," sighed the deputy headmistress. "But you know I am trying to keep away from societal gatherings these days."

"Of course," nodded Topaz, looking vaguely uncomfortable. It was their divorce that had made Minerva's social status among pureblood women plummet below zero and Topaz somehow seemed to be under the impression that he had to make up for it. As usual, Minerva decided to leave him to his delusions. "What I really wanted to ask is – have you heard of your mother's most recent plans?"

"Plans for what?" said Minerva, trying to pull herself out of her ponderings when sensing that what was about to hit her was not a simple matter. "I know she was disgruntled at the two dinners lying so close together for strategic reasons, but…"

"She's making marriage plans," Topaz then said. "Family-internal marriage pl– You can tut at me all you want. It's what she said – verbatim."

"I told her," said Minerva sourly, "that it is not going to happen. And that she ought to keep out of it. This is our business, not hers!"

"Oh no," said Topaz quickly. "You misunderstand the severity of the situation, I'm afraid. It seems that your mother has now given up all hope of the two of_ us _getting together again. Apparently, she now wants to hook you up with Healer Lestrange. She already spoke to all the relevant people, I'm told."

Minerva stared at him, completely forgetting her previous worries, unable to contribute anything to the conversation.

"He is an old bachelor," Topaz explained with an unfathomable expression. "The last unmarried member of that particular branch of the family, I'm told. Quite high up in status…"

Minerva still did not speak.

"I thought it was preposterous myself," claimed Topaz now, unnerved by her silence. "I told her that if you didn't want to marry me, what chance was there that –"

"Healer Lestrange you said?" Minerva suddenly cut in. Topaz nodded. His ex-wife gave him a grim side-glance. "Well, I suppose it's an option as good as any other," she said nastily. "If you think that I'll be unavailable for the rest of my life just because the two of us were no match, you are gravely mistaken."

Topaz's eyes narrowed.

"Surely you are not considering…"

"I am not too old to look for a permanent partner," said Minerva earnestly. "For years, all of you have been telling me to re-marry and have another child – an heir, if possible. Don't speak. I know exactly that you didn't have a rival in mind when telling me that it was unsuitable for a woman my age to have a career and no husband, but there you go. I make my decisions based on what I want, not on what any of you expect of me."

And with this, her head suddenly as light as her stomach was leaden, she swept out of the room.

In the kitchen, Livius Toke had taken the seat closest to the small window, while Morgana and Severus were sitting squeezed on the old bench in the corner. Morgana's knees were squeezed between her body and the old table's surface, while several cups were floating in mid-air, awaiting a filling of steaming tea from an overlarge teapot next to the fireplace and the kettle.

As opposed to the expected silence upon their entering, Minerva found Morgana and Severus engaged in light-hearted conversation and Toke laughing at their jokes every now and then, while letting a baby squid Patronus dance from one corner of the kitchen to the other just for shit and giggles. All three seemed in surprisingly good spirits, considering that Severus had only just come out of a coma.

"I was just saying, Mum," said Morgana lightly when noticing her parents' entrance, "that Slytherins can be brave, too, almost like Gryffindors. Isn't that the case?"

"Without a doubt," Minerva replied, not sitting down. The idea of remarrying sat too deeply in her bones still not to affect her posture. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, because I thought Toke and I were equally brave just now when we stood firmly against the upcoming wave of heat and all that," explained Morgana talkatively. "One might even call us heroic – nothing compared to what you achieved, of course," she then added, giving her mother an awe-filled look.

Minerva felt mocked.

"I daresay everyone in this room has proven themselves more than Gryffindor-worthy today," she said stiffly. "Including Severus and Topaz."

"Surprise," muttered her ex-husband, who had, in fact, been in Gryffindor and was usually the first to refer to the house rivalry as childish and nonsensical.

"Well, I'd say everyone present has proven themselves more than Slytherin-worthy, too," said Severus slowly. "As the former Head of Slytherin, I believe I can say with absolute certainty that, while it may be the case that none of this was possible without the well-known Gryffindor recklessness, it was true Slytherin bonding that helped everyone raise up conjointly to the challenge presented."

"Well said," mumbled Toke. Minerva suddenly remembered his behaviour during her mother's dinner and wondered what kind of Slytherin qualities the young nurse might possess.

"You are being very elaborate for someone who was so close to death only a short while ago," Topaz now said to Severus, patting the younger man's shoulder. "No fear of late effects?"

"The continuing stability of the time-turner field does put the mind at ease," Severus replied with an off-hand gesture. "But I am very willing to undergo any kind of follow-up examinations my nurse may decide to perform." His lips curled into a cynical smile.

"None at all," said Toke, his voice raw and therefore lower than usual. "I've already seen more than I can bear today." He sounded like a drunk kitten, Minerva found to her astonishment.

"I'll gladly do any kind of follow-up examinations anyone might need," Morgana prompted, giggling. "Provided I get a free choice of method."

"Cheers to that!" Toke said excitedly. He raised an imaginary glass, unable to reach for one of the teacups that were still dangling in the air, ignored by everyone present. Severus knocked his hand with his own, toasting back. Minerva's eyes narrowed.

"What exactly did the three of you drink that you are in such high spirits again?" she asked.

"I believe Morgana and Mr. Toke might still be intoxicated from the experience of being bound into a single object," said Topaz quietly, in his most reasonable healer's tone. "We might want to cut them some slack. With our critically unsound patient here, I am not entirely sure. Are you feeling all right, young Snape?"

He watched Severus earnestly, looking very superior and professional again. The younger wizard seemed to notice this, if only instinctively.

"Of course, sir," he said sleekly, slipping into a very familiar, very formal default role. "I am merely expressing exhilaration about the success of your ex-wife's undertaking."

Minerva flashed him a miniscule smile. Topaz gave his patient a doubtful look.

"Do you typically react to successful undertakings in such a high-spirited way? You seem a little too exhilarated."

"I managed to work a Pensieve for the first time in months today," Severus informed him, very much assuming his usual coldness. "I won a verbal combat concerning the question of age differences in partnerships," he flashed Morgana a look, who responded by means of a very smug and self-satisfied grin, "I got back a considerable amount of my magic after regaining consciousness it now seems, and, as an added bonus, I did not, in fact, die."

He stopped. Minerva felt his eyes rest on hers and, for the first time in months, had the feeling that she was being x-rayed. Quickly, though possibly not quickly enough, she averted her gaze and distracted herself by attempting to reach one of the floating teacups.

"I'm sure the experience must be very pleasant," Topaz said now, sitting down next to Morgana, who poked him in the rib and giggled. "I suggest a follow-up examination nevertheless. We are not dealing with the flu here. Perhaps a healer with more experience in these matters would be more appropriate, though. Too bad young Toke here has not come very far in his studies yet…"

"I am a nurse," said Toke promptly, taking Minerva by surprise. "I am not planning to be a healer."

There was a moment's silence, in which Minerva could have sworn she heard her forever impudent daughter whisper, "Go Tokesy!" Then, Topaz nodded slowly, pensively.

"I suppose tomorrow morning will be early enough – no need to get Healer Pye involved in this. I shall inform Lestrange first thing in the –"

Minerva sharply sucked in her breath and promptly choked on a mouthful of tea she had been about to swallow. Her coughs drowned out the rest of what Topaz had wanted to say and he looked at her in mock surprise before offering his assistance.

"Are there any problems, darling?"

"Not your darling," wheezed Minerva, "and no problems. I was merely going to point out that Healer _Moody _would be a far better choice here. She has been on the case longer than Lestrange and, really, she is the expert for theurgic systems in the Department."

"I'll see if she is available," said Topaz sweetly. "But if she is on late shift, I am afraid Lestrange will have to do."


	31. Vesta's Word

**Vesta's Word**

"Mother!"

There may be moments in a person's life when they are happy not to have to deal with life or death decisions, with love and rejection, with failed marriages or crucial misjudgements with regards to their children. Sometimes, people may be very content just standing in the hallway of a 20-bedroom manor, shouting at other people (say, their parents) about trivial matters, such as adult decision-making.

"MOTHER!"

Lately, relaxing though they could be, these moments had occurred a little too often in Minerva's life and she resolved that her and her mother's fighting had to be conducted more quietly, reasonably, and in the privacy of the West Wing's upstairs levels in future.

"MO-THER!"

After this one.

"There is no need to shout, my dear. My hearing is still perfectly functional."

From the way Vesta McGillivray glided down the staircase in her perfect evening gown that was buttoned up to her pointed chin, allowing just one finger of her right hand to slide down the ornamented balustrade, Minerva could deduce two things. One, her mother had clearly been informed of her daughter's conversation with Topaz already, and two, she obviously held the opinion that she was perfectly within her rights to steer her daughter's life in whatever direction she saw fit, given her own life experience – and elegance regarding the descent of staircases, apparently.

Minerva braced herself.

"I shall not," she said, "permit any marriage of mine to be arranged by you ever again."

"My dear," replied her mother, not at all, it seemed, surprised about this statement, "I did realise as much when you turned down the husband I chose for you fifty years ago, married another wizard and then got the first wizarding divorce in almost a century not five years later. You have proven unwilling to follow well-meant advice, incapable though you may be to arrange your own family affairs."

Minerva stared at her. "How can you just say these things?"

"The truth needs to be said sometimes," replied Vesta McGillivray sternly. "Topaz has spoken to you then?"

"As you are well aware."

"I am indeed. What did he say to you?"

"I hope he lied," said Minerva slowly. "I hope for your sake that you didn't actually ask Healer Lestrange to marry me. Because how foolish would that be, asking him such an important question without even obtaining my opinion on the matter…?"

Vesta McGillivray raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"That is what he told you? That I spoke with Courtus? How ridiculous! Topaz really should know better than to invent such nonsense."

Minerva breathed out audibly. Another faux pas on Topaz's record, then…

"I spoke with his _mother_, obviously," continued Vesta McGillivray. "An unpleasant person, I have to say, but that is her problem, of course. The family stands otherwise in very high regards – _my _regards, that is. Whatever you think I should have been discussing with Courtus is beyond me."

Minerva frowned, as yet not fully prepared to take in the implications of this. She decided to take Severus's approach on topics he did not feel comfortable with. "Are you saying that you want me to marry Madame Lestrange, mother? What a bold–"

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you much, love," her mother cut in. "Or rather, it suits you, but it doesn't suit me at the moment, so drop it! We obviously discussed your marriage to her son. Incidentally, the family owns an estate in the East of Scotland. A little too close to Edinburgh for my taste, but there you go. There are a few fields still between the appurtenant grounds and the next Muggle settlement, I am told."

"Mother," said Minerva slowly, trying to sound as reasonable as the could, "it seems to me that you are not taking my objections into consideration."

"And why should I?" replied her mother crisply. "We have seen that you are incapable of administrating your own marriage affairs."

"You haven't done any better," snapped Minerva suddenly. "Your choosing a soldier as my future husband was the worst mistake you have made in over ninety years of playing the Dark Evil Overlady of pureblood society. Lance was never better for me than Topaz turned out to be, but Topaz at least was my own mistake, not yours! I do not _understand_ you mother! How can you think you know my feelings better than I do?"

"Not your feelings, love," said her mother sternly. "Feelings are but an optional factor in wizarding marriages. You of all people should know this, having had to divorce the person of whom you were so fond only a few years ago. I was opposed to this bond from the beginning."

"Yet, you have been insisting for the last decade that the two of us should get together again," Minerva said sharply.

"You swore an oath!"

"So what?" asked Minerva, slightly puzzled. "It's not as though I agreed to make the Unbreakable Vow."

"Lucky for you!" said her mother tartly.

"We've been through this," said Minerva tiredly. "If you do not approve of Topaz, why will you insist on meddling in our marriage affairs in the first place?"

"I have always seen Topaz as a compromise between your foolishness and my hopes for your future," replied her mother, not quite meeting her eye. "I have an interest in seeing you married. Topaz is the one wizard you ever considered for this purpose."

Just for a moment, Minerva was tempted to ask if there was something else she should know and had never been told, but then decided against it and crossed her arms instead, determined to look as unprepared to compromise as possible. This time.

"I understand that you refuse to remarry Topaz," said her mother eventually, watching a crow land on the windowsill outside. "Is that incorrect?"

"No," said Minerva slowly, her eyes fixed on the older witch, "of course not."

"Well, then I see no problem in forming a very advantageous connection with an old wizarding line from the English side," Vesta stated, partly disgruntled about her daughter's stubbornness, partly surprised, it seemed, that Minerva was continuing to reject her ideas. The deputy headmistress closed her eyes for a moment. There was just no polite way of getting out of the situation.

"I will not remarry," she said bluntly. "At all. There is no convincing me otherwise, mother."

"And there is no convincing me that you will not change your mind once you have had the opportunity of meeting young Courtus in private," said her mother sweetly. "Incidentally, I took the liberty of arranging a little tête-à-tête this evening at eight, since you are here anyway and we want the formalities out of the way as quickly as possible."

"Mother!" This was it. This was the last straw. "I have no. Intention. Of remarrying! Healer Lestrange is _of no interest_ to me, social or otherwise! He is a stranger to me! He is another healer with his head in the clouds. He is tall, loud, overbearing, self-assured – in fact, he is so much like a mixture of Lance and Topaz that I am beginning to think you are doing this on purpose! Also, he is at least two decades younger than me!"

"One and a half," replied her mother thinly. "Which is nothing in wizarding terms, as you well know. Don't invent reasons to get out of this, Minerva, I will not accept it."

"I will _not_ attend this 'tête-à-tête'!" replied Minerva stubbornly.

"Oh, but you will," said Vesta McGillivray, suddenly very calm and serious. "You know me, Minerva. I would not dream of forcing you to marry someone you refuse. But I _will _force you to consider my proposal. You are continuously the only member of this society who will not accept my authority on social matters. This is intolerable. You _will_ meet young Lestrange in the West Wing dining room tonight, Minerva, because if you don't, I am afraid I shall have to withdraw my offer of accommodating the young Halfblood under this roof for the duration of his healing process. Now– shut your mouth, darling, this look is unbecoming on a witch of seventy-three years. You have your priorities, I have mine. We shall have to come to an agreement."

Minerva's shoulders sagged. Her mother's words flooded over her like a massive tidal wave, not allowing any room for resistance, shaping the landscape entirely anew.

"Yes," she said hoarsely after a second's pause, realising that, with this threat up her sleeve, her mother might, in fact, as easily have forced her to marry. "I suppose we shall. Well… very well then… I'll be here, if only for Severus's sake. But I promise you that your endeavours will be unsuccessful."

"And I promise you that there is sometimes more to a person than meets the eye," said her mother lightly, sweeping up the staircase once more. "Just give him a wee chance, darling."

As the evening drew nearer, Minerva found herself more and more tempted to speak with Severus again. Their shared experience of being one, if only for a few moments, lay heavily on her mind and she could not help thinking about it as something that had drawn them a little closer together, despite the obvious embarrassment involved. Severus had not spoken to her all day and Minerva felt instinctively that there was a need for some discussion under the exclusion of the manor's other inhabitants. She had already seen Toke very briefly and thanked him for his support, and she had spoken to Morgana, who described her experience as Severus's surrogate Pensieve as 'mindblowing', 'once-in-a-lifetime', and 'better than sex'. Both, Toke and Morgana confirmed that they had felt their magic at work, which nourished Minerva's suspicion that using living people to replace the broken Pensieve had been a very good idea indeed. Morgana's and Toke's magic had, after all, stabilised Severus from inside and allowed her to get him out of there without making his theurgic system collapse completely. When she told Morgana this, her daughter just said, "All the better! That means he owes me his life now."

Minerva had refrained from replying.

Against all scheduling, Severus's therapy session had moved to the afternoon and Toke had agreed to spend the night in the guest quarters once more because the house would take a trip to the Middle Ages at three o'clock in the afternoon and remain there at least until two or three o'clock of the following morning. It was for this reason that Minerva did, effectively, not catch even a glimpse of the patient and his nurse until way after tea time. Both, Severus and Toke emerged from the library, where they seemed to have been practising surprisingly high-level magic, at least judging from Toke's recounts when he almost bumped into Minerva in the hallway.

"Professor!" he squeaked (Toke always squeaked – his voice was a singular phenomenon). "How good of you to come and join us. We just transfigured a book into a cow and back again…"

"_I_," came a voice from just behind the nurse and Minerva looked up smilingly, peeling Toke off her sleeve. "_I _transfigured a book into a cow. _You_ were standing around pretending to be a squeaking bookshelf."

"I so didn't!" replied the nurse angrily. "And I so wasn't just standing around."

"You were not being useful, in any case," replied Severus, his lips curling.

Toke gave him a sulking look. "I was just so pleased…"

"You were not pleased," Severus cut in. "You were _excited_. Pleased is something _adults_ are."

"_I_ am pleased to see," Minerva interrupted gently, "that practising transfiguration does not dampen your mood as much as it used to when you were still at school."

"Must be the new circumstances," Severus prompted. "My current teacher is much more adept than the previous one."

Minerva had to admit that she had been asking for this.

"Have you got time for a drink in my office downstairs?" she asked when Toke had gone to change out of his nursing uniform. "Mother has gone to assist father with something and I believe Morgana is still playing Quidditch with her younger self in the back yard. She does that sometimes, not that I ought to approve. But at least she is out of the way for the duration of the time jump, and we could open a bottle of black wine…"

"Whatever happened to tea?" said Severus, sounding surprised. Minerva gave him a puzzled look. "You don't usually take alcoholic beverages around this time of the day," her colleague explained apologetically. "Excuse my surprise."

"You will understand once you've heard what my mother has got in store for me," Minerva said darkly. "Come on. I have to tell someone."

Severus followed her readily.


	32. Friendship

**Friendship**

Several biscuits and half a bottle of black wine later (or 'Black wine', as it had originally been called – the label had experienced semantic broadening) Minerva had told Severus a few unimportant bits and pieces of her conversation with her mother, circling this general topic and that, pointedly evading the actual problem at hand. She had also advised her friend to stay as far away as possible from Vesta McGillivray, "if you intend to remain bodily and spiritually unharmed for the rest of your time here, that is," and had eventually enquired about his therapy session, which had resulted in no more than a growl and an off-hand shrug. Severus was still not prepared to regard any hour spent in the same room as Livius Toke as anything but a waste of time.

"I get the most satisfying results when I can make him shut up and hide behind some piece of furniture," he told his former colleague, letting his gaze glide over some of her personal belongings that were distributed evenly on the shelves and the desk, not showing much actual interest in them. Minerva followed his gaze.

"It is fascinating to see how much he winds you up," she said truthfully. "I would have expected you to get used to him by now."

"Some things are harder to get used to than a Gryffindor snot face at the top of one's NEWTs class," replied Severus sourly. "Incidentally, is it true that Longbottom got apprenticed by Meredith Ketteridge?"

"Oh yes!" exclaimed Minerva smugly, feeling her face assume an expression of delight. "That is absolutely correct. They say she is extremely impressed by his wide-ranging knowledge of herbs and potions."

"Better had," mumbled Severus. "The effort of filling that sieve of a brain with knowledge cost me more than just a bit of effort and nerves at the time. I had to use raw force on occasion."

"You were very invested," Minerva admitted. "Although I do seem to remember the headmaster criticising your methods every now and then."

"Dumbledore never criticised," said Severus pensively. "He politely objected to some of my less conventional methods, perhaps. That, he did every day, though."

"I don't believe it. Every day?"

"It was his favourite leisure time activity."

"Well, with regard to Mr. Longbottom, I had a thing or two to say to you myself, if I remember correctly," said Minerva reminiscently. "Was it you who threatened to poison his toad a few months into his fourth year?"

"Very educational," said Severus stiffly. "And I did not threaten to poison the animal as a punishment. I merely pointed Longbottom to the fact that if he did not manage to brew the antidote quickly enough, he might, as a consequence, lose someone very close to his heart. That is real life brought directly into the classroom, Minerva."

The deputy headmistress's lips thinned. "Poisoning pets is barbaric. The sheer number of times I had to have a private conversation with the boy does not speak for successfully applied teaching methods, Severus."

"Private conversations?" The younger man raised his eyebrows. (Minerva was unsure whether he did so in mock surprise or because of her choice of words.) "I did not realise you two were that close."

"Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped. "I didn't invite Longbottom for tea. I was doing my duty as his head of house and tried to build up his self-confidence, which I might not have had to, had you not used fear as a motivator quite as often."

"I learned from the best," replied Severus coldly, side-glancing. Minerva took a sharp breath and put one hand on her chest.

"Well, I never… what are you… What is this nonsense?" she said with a disbelieving laugh. "Did I ever threaten to take away your pet whenever you failed to transfigure it?"

"I didn't have a pet," said Severus slowly, pointedly.

"I could have sworn you had some sort of lizard for some time," Minerva mused, deflating a little. "In-between borrowed owls. Or was that a stuffed toy?"

"Stuffed toy!" Severus blew a stand of hair out of his face and disappeared behind his wine glass. "As though my parents could have afforded such nonsense. As though they would have wished to!"

Minerva rummaged in her memory for some more details of something she remembered only vaguely.

"A dragon," she eventually said, slowly stirring her wine in its glass with small, circular movements of her hand, "a small, grey dragon formed from a pillow, jinxed to sprout wings and follow you around everywhere… I am sure of it! You called it Pebble!"

"Listen," Severus spat, "whatever you saw the other night, when you were intruding into my most private sphere, you have to realise that it may have been a figment of my temporarily overactive imagination…"

"I did not –" Minerva began, and then stopped, realising that there were enough uncomfortable things between them without this one. "I'm sorry," she therefore said quickly. "I must have confused you with another student. My memory is not very reliable these days."

Severus glared at her for a little while and then responded with a slow and solemn nod.

"I have been wanting to discuss the… the other day with you, actually," Minerva said quickly, before something else could come up. "The events following the destruction of the Pensieve. Have you experienced any problems because of it? Anything new, I mean?"

"Slight headache following the actual explosion," Severus replied, shifting in his seat. "But I don't think you are interested in the details. What is it that you wanted discuss with the help of this, ah, excellent beverage?"

He looked at her again as though attempting to read the answer from her wide eyes. Minerva quickly averted her gaze.

"You are not… practising Legilimency again now, are you?"

"If you are wondering whether I am performing illegal magic on you at this very moment," Severus replied casually, more in his element now, "I'll have to disappoint you. The wandless variety is still nowhere near within my powers. Although I did notice that my Occlumency is coming back at great speed… but we are discussing health again."

"Yes," mumbled Minerva, "everything seems to relate to your health these days."

"If you permit, I will touch on a related subject," Severus said politely, his wineglass raised still, although Minerva noticed it was nowhere near as empty as her own.

"Please," she prompted, straightening in her chair, "feel free."

"I came across a hospital brochure the other day," Severus began, "that is, more precisely, Toke handed it to me because I had asked about the specifics of his education. Yes, I am making conversation with him from time to time. Don't look like that – it can't be too surprising for you. I don't get much information from the outside world these days and Toke is one of my best sources. Anyway, the brochure stated, among other things, that Toke's work is not covered by the hospital's standard funds, so I am wondering, quite naturally…"

"Where the money for your treatment came from," Minerva sighed. "Truth be told, I have been expecting you to find out eventually."

"Find out what?" enquired the man, straightening up a little.

"Find out that I took the liberty of paying the cheque," replied Minerva, not looking at her friend but gazing into her empty wine glass instead. "I wanted to see your health improve as quickly as possible. I also wished to be able to help you out of this misery in some way. It is…" she laughed shortly, very uncomfortably, "a bad habit of mine, I suppose. See, I have always considered it my responsibility to be of as much assistance as possible. Dumbledore knew it and regarded the limitation of my duties to educational business during the war as _his_ responsibility. Merlin knows, I would have gone insane trying to fix every individual problem I encountered during that time. In the case of your illness, I am embarrassed so say, I have been feeling rather useless. You are living in my parents' home, not mine, you can never go out, I cannot help you improve your magic skills because that is Toke's job… goodness knows, I could try and teach you Transfiguration I suppose, but even in that respect I failed once already. No, don't say anything! I realise that I should have discussed the question of payment with you. But I felt that you would disapprove. That you would not want to accept this from me because you never do, and… but I keep thinking that the situation is very unusual and calls for unusual means."

Just for a moment, Severus's gaze seemed to assume a new, unusual quality of softness. Strangely, Minerva thought, but not unpleasantly. He had been listening attentively until now, though without much emotional investment, and now, suddenly, Minerva thought she could see him trying to make an effort of making this easier for her. Just for a second, Severus seemed more like a boy than a man, as trapped in this situation as she was, as helpless in his position as the one whose life, for once, depended not only on his own wit and a dose of luck, but on the support and the friendship of others.

"You are right," the black-haired wizard said eventually, his expression unfathomable again. "I have no intention of accepting this without offering something in return."

Minerva gave a small sigh. "Severus, what could you possibly…" She stopped herself just in time. Severus raised an eyebrow.

"I will not accept all this as a charity," he said. "I have already calculated the minimum amount of rent I shall be returning to your parents once I can assume a paid profession once more. However, I cannot possibly return all the Galleons you have now spent for this therapy, so I will have to think of an alternative. Unlikely though it may seem at present, there may be times, in the near future, where I will get the chance to repay you in ways other than money – by means of a favour, for instance. Like it or not, but I promise I shall take that chance, whatever it may be and whenever it may come."

Minerva bit her lip. "That was not the intention," she said quietly after a while. "I did not mean to put you in my debt."

"And you did not," Severus replied. "You are not responsible for my momentary condition. I _shall_ pay for all this, because a debt of this magnitude is enough to threaten any friendship. And I value you as a friend, Minerva, more than it may appear sometimes."

And they fell silent, something inside Minerva settling down with a sudden calm. Hearing Severus discuss friendship was not an everyday occurrence and she had every intention of allowing him to continue. After all, there were things a person could understand only when one had spoken them aloud.

"Whenever I make a decision," Severus continued, in a lower voice than before, though as solemn, "I tend to calculate all the consequences and risks involved. When I came here, I did so under the condition that I would accept nothing which I could not repay. Then, increasingly in recent weeks, I have come to the realisation that you have already given me so much that I will not be able to pay back, especially now that the war is over. You saved my life, more than once, you supplied me with all the basic elements of a comfortable life by asking your parents the favour of allowing me to regenerate here, you introduced me to Morgana, which might have been the most educational acquaintance of my entire life, and, above all, you have not spoken about all this to anyone, including your best friend, which I suspect was the hardest feat of all."

Sometimes, Minerva thought, he does seem to be practising some instinctive kind of Legilimency.

"I want to help you," she said quietly.

"Yes," was the simple reply. "I know, Minerva. The way to do so is to let me help you in turn. Otherwise, how can we ever be equals?"

Minerva gave him a long, earnest look through her glasses, watching him take a miniscule sip from his glass and put it back on the table. He really was not much of a drinker.

"I understand," she said eventually, thinking that she did. "I shall take this into consideration. I shall remember your promise and think about favours I might ask of you, should the time come. But I want you to continue therapy under any circumstances. I think it is doing you a lot of good."

Severus's lips curled slightly. "And I was so hoping to get rid of Toke once and for all."

A moment later, a knock on the door interrupted the first whole-hearted laugh the two teachers had shared in a long time.


	33. Courtus Lestrange

**Courtus Lestrange**

It took Minerva a few seconds to remember the reason why she had originally wanted to talk to Severus and who, in all likeliness, was standing in front of her office door now, intending to enforce her intentions for the evening.

"Please enter," she said automatically and her mother opened the door, just wide enough to allow her small head to poke through the resulting gap. Upon seeing both, Severus and her daughter inside Minerva's study, she frowned. (Her face worked a lot like Minerva's. When she looked confused or angry, her eyebrows pulled into one, straight line. Even to non-students, the expression looked terribly forbidding.) Obviously, she was not content with her daughter's lack of visible excitement about the imminent dinner.

"It is twenty to eight, dear."

Minerva took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on Severus's expressionless face.

"I'll be there," she said slowly, her teeth grit. "As promised."

"Good," said Vesta McGillivray simply, and then, to Severus, "Dinner will take place in the East Wing kitchen today. The dining room is taken by Minerva and her guest."

Despite his unawareness of the ongoings, Severus nodded politely. "Of course, madam." He really did know how to treat the wizarding upper class.

When her mother had left again, Minerva sighed and put her head in both hands, quite uncharacteristically. Severus assumed a thoughtful, though attentive posture and waited.

"My mother is trying to get me to marry Healer Lestrange," Minerva said eventually, rubbing her face tiredly. "Merlin knows, she means it this time. I shall have some difficulty surviving her latest social scheming, I'm afraid. Lestrange seems to be a fantastic match, or she would not be quite as insistent."

Severus looked on edge.

"I'm sorry," said Minerva quickly. "You shouldn't have to concern yourself with this, of course. These are not your worries."

"I'm not worried," replied the former Potions master slowly. "You, on the other hand, should be."

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "Do you know something about Courtus Lestrange that I should be aware of?"

"He is not a Death Eater, if that's what you mean," said the former Potions master slowly, and then, taking in Minerva's expression, "It is somewhat fascinating to see you react disappointedly to this. You really must hate the idea of marrying."

Minerva hurriedly confirmed this. Severus continued to look thoughtful.

"Madame Lestrange has quite a bit of influence within pureblood circles, does she not?"

"Indeed she does," Minerva replied sourly. "Which is the reason my mother is so fond of the idea of making this match, I fear."

"Among my former, ah, acquaintances," Severus said pensively, "Madame Lestrange counts as extremely ruthless in her political choices and very dangerous, socially. Rastaban mentions her occasionally – she is his aunt by marriage, of course – and Rodolphus's. She used to have four children, two of whom died in the service of the old wizarding army. The older of the two remaining ones, Courtus Lestrange's sister, was supposed to marry a Black some twenty years ago, but obviously the Black line died out, except for one branch that has only a daughter left. Lately, Madame Lestrange seems to have developed an obsession with marrying her children off to relatively wealthy and powerful lines. I know for a fact that she tried the Malfoy line about two years ago, but Narcissa postponed the decision until Draco was of age. They say that, in the months before the war, Madame Lestrange has been getting involved with a very powerful dark leader of some kind – some kind of immensely top-notch, terrifyingly powerful social networker –"

He stopped, comprehension dawning.

"Yes," said Minerva in resignation, getting up from her seat and placing the wine glasses on a small tray for Mawly to clean up later. "That would be my mother."

***

When she sat in the dining room, some fifteen minutes later, pondering over Severus's words, she could not help but marvel at the fact that her mother's influence within the wizarding society extended so far that even Death Eaters spoke of her the way Severus had. Not that she had not always known that the name Vesta McGillivray inspired awe even in the latest generation of purbloodist snobs, who dealt with ancient money and old-fashioned societal rules on a daily basis, if only to escape reality and the resulting political problems caused by the century-long segregation of Muggles and wizards. It was her mother's speciality to surround herself exclusively with people whose understanding of life was limited to living-room decoration and tea parties.

"Incoming floo call, magically calculated place and time: London, Kensington, October 31st, 1998," said Hamish McGillivray's recorded voice from a little crystal ball on the mantelpiece in the back of the room and Minerva grunted a reluctant acceptance. This was it.

A slightly disoriented-looking Courtus Lestrange left the fireplace, brushed some dust off his evening robes, then spotted her and indicated a bow.

"Professor McGonagall."

"Healer Lestrange," she replied politely, offering him a seat on the table, which her mother had carefully decorated in candle-light dinner fashion. "How good of you to drop by."

"Thank you very much indeed for having me," said the healer quietly, observing protocol somewhat reluctantly, it seemed. Minerva followed suit.

"How is your family these days? Your father was involved in the restructuring of the Southern Portkey routes, I hear?"

"It is true," replied the healer, not quite meeting her eye, "he has been very involved. Ever since the exit near Spinner's End dropped out of the game there has been a lot of trouble for everyone involved."

"Spinner's End dropped out?" Minerva said quickly. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, its owner sold it, apparently," shrugged the healer. "I am no expert, but it seems that Portkey exit routes need a constant supply of magic and if there aren't any witches or wizards living close by, that proves a complicated undertaking. So they just dropped the exit point altogether and concentrated on the extension of the floo network in that area. It's like exchanging a House-Elf for a Kneazle, if you ask me, but there you go. Kneazles seem to be a lot cheaper."

"And _he'll_ think he needs the money," Minerva said exasperatedly, thinking aloud. Healer Lestrange raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Never mind," said the deputy headmistress quickly, remembering the purpose of their encounter. "I am… glad that you found your way here, despite the continuing inadequacy of the English floo network." Healer Lestrange looked less comfortable than ever.

"Not on my own volition, I have to say," he blurted out, clearly unable to stop himself. Minerva breathed an inward sigh of relief.

"Well, I am very glad we share this sensation."

A puzzled look was the answer to this. Minerva allowed herself a miniscule smile. The situation was all too ironic for her taste, though not altogether unexpected.

"You didn't think my mother discussed this with me before making the necessary arrangements?" she said cynically, wondering why on earth the idea that she, too, might have been left out of the discussions had not occurred to him as it had occurred to her. "I was as surprised by all this as you apparently were," she continued slowly, pointedly. "By this… 'tête-à-tête', as my mother likes to call it. Personally, I heard about it this morning. How about you?"

The healer stared at her, his face blank as though he could hardly believe his ears. Then, it seemed, a small laugh incensed some motion in his body.

"I… you… a-ha – this is your mothers…? And you had no intention of… Merlin, I was worried how to break it to you…"

"Yes," laughed Minerva, relieved that the atmosphere had cleared so quickly. "Yes, so was I. Although I did think that there was a chance you might be as clueless as I was about these 'marriage' discussions."

Her tone indicated the apostrophes and Healer Lestrange laughed again.

"I'll drink to that," he said, grabbing a bottle of black wine. "May I? To the abandonment of our parents' wedding plans?"

"Of course," replied Minerva, sitting down on the chair opposite his. "We should not let the circumstances of this meeting spoil our appetite. It is perfectly possible to have a dinner without intending to get married, is it not?"

Only when the door opened did Minerva realise that her mother must have stood behind it for quite some time now, following their conversation. The temperature within the dining room appeared to drop by several degrees as the lady approached the dining table, pointedly slow-paced, but with an expression of the utmost fury on her face. Minerva closed her eyes, not willing to believe this.

"Mother!"

"I just want to know if everything is going well with the two of you," said Vesta McGillivray in a forced sweet voice, "seeing if everything is to your satisfaction. Courtus, welcome to this house. I apologise for not greeting you in person. I was… held back."

"As you undoubtedly heard, mother," said Minerva, dropping all pretence, "neither Healer Lestrange nor I intend to marry. We have a very firm understanding in this."

"So I am led to believe," replied her mother curtly, not even attempting to conceal her eavesdropping. "May I ask, Courtus, what made you jump to your conclusion so very quickly? I am aware that _my daughter _acts on impulse more often than not, but a man of your standing…"

"I apologise profoundly, Mrs. McGillivray," replied Healer Lestrange politely, getting up as though he was about to make a speech. "It was not in my intention to cause an affront. I do not wish to offend you or your family in any way. But I am afraid my mother failed to mention something to you. Something she has a tendency to neglect when it comes to social networking."

"And what would that be?" asked Minerva's mother, glaring at him as though an awareness of how unforgivable his current behaviour was could be burned into his skull this way.

"The fact," said Lestrange politely, offering her a glass of wine, which she took, "that I am already married."

The silence that followed was stale as ice.

"You want me to believe that your mother would fail to mention something as important as an already existing marriage when asking for my daughter's hand in marriage in your place?" Vesta McGillivray then said, every syllable being dragged earthwards by heavy icicles. "Indeed, you want me to believe that your mother would engage in marriage planning in the first place if you were, in fact, already legally bound?"

"Well, that is the problem," Lestrange explained. "I am not married under wizarding law, because wizarding law does not recognise my marriage as legally binding."

"And why is that?"

"Because," said the Healer with a polite smile, "I am married to a wizard."

With a crack, a wine glass escaped its owner's hand and landed on the marble floor.

"Minerva," said Vesta McGillivray sternly, taking a sip from her own. "Is this good manners? I think not."

"I'm… I'm sorry," said Minerva, nervously taking out her wand and cleaning up the mess she had made.

"Well, I am very sorry to hear this, Courtus," said her mother as though no interruption had occurred. "Your mother might have mentioned this fact so as to spare my daughter the embarrassment of having to attend this discussion. You married for reasons of love, I expect?"

"Of… course," Lestrange replied, looking slightly befuddled.

"And you intend on keeping up your relationship with this man?"

"Very definitely," the Healer said, clearly wondering where this would lead.

"Well, then I see only one option," Vesta McGillivray mused. "Minerva and you will have to adopt your boyfriend…"

"Husband!"

"_Future son_," corrected the lady, looking pleased with her own idea. "An adoption would be the socially most acceptable way for you to see your lover on a regular basis once you are married to my daughter."

"I'm sorry," said Healer Lestrange, "er… what?"

"There is a reason our society doesn't recognise marriages like yours," said Vesta McGillivray stiffly. "This way people can be in a love relationship and still have a traditional wizarding marriage with all its benefits, including, of course, pureblood offspring. I take it that I do not need to remind you of our kind being on the verge of dying out? The increasing number of wizard-Muggle relationships speaks for an appalling attitude among witches and wizards towards the production of pureblood offspring. We, that is, me and my friends of the Knitting Fates Association, are very aware of, ah, deviant forms of love, but they should not get in the way of a perfectly reasonably social match designed to make its contribution to creating future generations of purebloods. The wizarding world is in a critical state, you will undoubtedly agree, but we are willing to make reasonable compromises in order to avoid a complete reliance of our society's future on so-called 'mixed families'."

"Well," said Lestrange slowly, obviously not knowing what to think of this, "I am not too worried about mixed families. They are rather common these days."

"But you must see," replied Vesta, now fully in her element, "that mixing with Muggles shortens the wizarding life span considerably. How can you not mind living a mere ninety or hundred years instead of the usual two hundred?"

"I have known many people who lived a hundred very happy years," said Lestrange calmly. "And there are many pureblood witches and wizards who live two hundred very unhappy ones. To me, it seems that the question of age becomes irrelevant in the light of people's momentary happiness."

"Beautifully said," commented Minerva, unable to restrain herself. Her mother gave her a chastising look.

"This is not an attitude that will keep our society alive," she said sternly.

"It is an attitude, which maintains a lot of good spirit among witches and wizards," said Lestrange factually. "You know, I am not supposed to tell you this, but – I won't live up to two hundred years myself. My grandmother didn't and my mother, too, looks as though she is in her one hundred and nineties, even though she has barely passed the hundred year mark. There must be Muggle blood in the Lestrange family, as is the case in most of the renowned pureblood ones."

There was a short silence. Minerva watched her mother's expression, which allowed no guessing as to how she took these news. Not without some satisfaction, Minerva guessed, because, by and large, her mother did enjoy news that were potentially damaging to her social rivals' reputation, but also, Minerva presumed, with some distaste. This was something Madame Lestrange was sure to have neglected to mention in her conversations with Minerva's mother as well. For some reason, Minerva was sure that the marriage was off, this way or another.

"I apologise profoundly," said Lestrange now. "This must come as a shock to you. It will also come as a shock to my mother finding out that we discussed the matter of blood purity so openly, but you realise, of course, that there is a lot at stake for me. I love my husband. I do not… I _could_ not love your daughter sufficiently to justify a marriage. And I could not do this to my family – my husband and our two sons."

Vesta McGillivray looked at the tall wizard, her eyes seeming to bore through him, not menacingly now, but rather as though she was attempting to read his mind. As though she was convinced that, any moment now, she would wake up and find that this conversation had never happened in the first place.

Then, without a warning, and without further comments, the lady turned, pursing her lips, and strode towards the room's exit, not looking at either her daughter or their guest.


	34. The Truth

**The Truth**

As always, morning dawned far too early. After her mother's sudden disappearance from the dining room the previous evening, Minerva had asked Healer Lestrange to re-examine Severus about the young man's quickly regenerating magical skills. As expected, Severus's health was found to be 'increasingly stable', and even 'beyond expectations'. His magic had indeed begun to return at somewhat greater speed than before, so that Lestrange was positive he might be relatively stable again within three or even two years from now. Severus would be allowed to engage in basic Potion brewing again ("Up to level B only, no experiments!") and the ban on basic magic in his close reach was lifted. The manor's inhabitants were permitted to tidy up after themselves by means of spells again instead of having to call the House-Elf for every bit of cleaning, which particularly Morgana found very helpful.

At sunrise, even before she opened her eyes for the first time, Minerva heard voices on the floor, coming from the general direction of Morgana's room. She vaguely wondered whether they belonged to Severus or one of her parents, but then remembered that it was too early for her father to be getting up now and too late for her mother or Severus. Well, Morgana did talk to herself occasionally, of course. And this close to the Quidditch season she had even been known to wake up before ten or eleven o'clock.

Or, of course, there was someone else.

Minerva realised this only when stepping out of the bathroom in her dressing gown after a long and relaxing shower when she almost bumped into Livius Toke. To her great dismay, the nurse, too, was scarcely dressed and held something pink and rubbery in his hand, which, upon realising who she was, he frantically tried to hide behind his back. This was prevented by the fact that both his hands were bound to each other by means of a pair of shackles. Minerva stared at them, uncomprehendingly. Toke, on the other hand, fought unsuccessfully against a fit of nervous laughter, retreated a few steps, and bumped his head on the portrait of Perenelle McPhail. This, in turn, made Morgana appear in the doorway of her dimly lit room next to the portrait, who stopped, stared, and joined in the laughter (seeming not quite as embarrassed as the nurse), drawing Minerva's attention to the fact that Toke had likely just emerged from Morgana's room, not his own. The deputy headmistress stared at the young man and then at her daughter, unable to find the right words to deal with this situation in an appropriate manner.

It was Morgana who spoke first, stroking Toke's neck a little to calm him down.

"Hi Mum," she said lightly. "Are you finished? Cause we wanted to take a bath up here. The big bathrooms are all unheated."

Minerva nodded, slowly, as though in a dream.

"Certainly, dear."

Toke, whose face had assumed the colour of Morgana's nightshirt by now (a deep shade of red, but without a golden lion), said nothing. He seemed to be attempting to disapparate on spot. For once, Minerva wished this could have been possible in the manor. After another second's silence, she suddenly realised that it was she who had to bring this awkward encounter to an end.

"My… apologies," she therefore said tensely, grabbed a random towel and hurried towards her room, not turning around again.

Only after she had closed the door behind herself, sat down on one of her chairs next to the wardrobe, and closed her eyes for a few moments did a single realisation begin to dawn on her… Toke and Morgana. Morgana and Toke. Not Severus. Not Morgana and Severus.

Comprehension suddenly began to sink in, as though several parts of a very big jigsaw puzzle were coming together now, on their own accord. As though a heavy veil had been lifted in her head, Minerva suddenly realised the importance of '_not_ Morgana and Severus'. She sat very still for a long moment, letting this new sensation wash over her.

Not Morgana and Severus.

After a while, she began repeating these words over and over again in her head while, at the same time, contemplating all the possible reasons for the surge of bliss that came with the realisation that it had been Toke, Toke all along, in whom Morgana had shown such an obvious interest over the past months. The results were heartening.

A feeling of inexplicable lightness remained with Minerva even after she had got dressed and gone downstairs for breakfast, and for several hours afterwards. Her mother was still nowhere in sight and Minerva suspected that she was either sulking or trying to come up with an alternative solution for her only daughter's future family life. Either way, it was good not to have to talk to her after what had happened. Toke and Morgana, thankfully, remained away from the main corridor of the West Wing, too, where Minerva spent most of the early morning trying to concentrate enough to prepare several double lessons on Waffling's 'Theory of Animation', which was usually misinterpreted by students as proof that you could make anything walk, as long as you knew the right spell. Unsurprisingly, her efforts turned out a lot less fruitful than expected, what with the deputy headmistress's thoughts drifting back to this morning's encounter and the question of whether or not there was maybe more to 'Severus and Minerva' than just tea and banter and more tea and more banter… and silence…

An hour before lunchtime, the deputy headmistress came across Severus in the living room, who was just about to pour himself a cup of tea (tea again!) over another of her father's thick books.

She approached him at a snail's pace, afraid to speak of what was on her mind.

"Severus…"

"Hm?"

"I have been meaning to talk to you."

"Please do. There is no need for me to read this now. I have some spare time – as you know. Not as much as I initially thought when all this began, of course, but still, I don't think I have ever read quite so many interesting books in a row."

"Is this a non-magic copy?"

"Absolutely. Your father seems to be under the impression that any magically glittering cover will send me back to the land of endless bliss."

"He is right. It is dangerous."

"Of course."

"You were lucky the other day."

"Lucky, yes."

They sat opposite each other for a long time, staring into nothingness, Minerva not knowing how to express her thoughts, Severus unsure, it seemed, of how to react to their half-opened conversation.

"I have been, ah, considering a few things regarding openness," Severus said eventually, looking tense. Minerva nodded eagerly, urging him to continue.

"I suppose that maybe I should be more open with you in future," said Severus quietly. "Perhaps I ought to start telling you about things if we are to work together successfully."

Minerva raised an eyebrow. This came from an unexpected, though not altogether unpleasant angle.

"Yes, Severus?"

"Our… encounter back there," said the dark-eyed wizard slowly, pointing at the living room, "in here, I mean," he then added tensely, tapping his forehead, "has been a highly educational experience with regard to certain aspects."

"Oh?"

"You…" Severus hesitated. He was experiencing perceptible difficulties to speak about something, which concerned him so directly, so personally. It seemed that he was resolved to get this over with, however, leaving Minerva with the sudden impression of a very young man who was trying to discuss emotionally advanced topics for the first time. Just for a moment, Minerva caught herself forgetting Severus's blood status and thinking that he was, after all, still in his thirties.

"I didn't expect you not to take advantage of the situation back there," said Severus slowly, weighing every word very carefully, "yet, that is what happened," he added quickly when Minerva made to interrupt. "You didn't ask the wrong questions. You didn't press on when I showed you no trust. You turned away from a potentially very interesting situation, in order to save me… us, I mean. I suppose you saved both of us."

"That's what I'd come for," said Minerva quietly.

"Yes," agreed Severus. "And because of that I have decided to tell you the truth. I shall disclose to you what it was that I was trying to hide so desperately that I had to use that blasted Pensieve even though Toke said it was the most foolish idea I've had in all the time he'd known me. I think that you _deserve _to know."

"Severus," said Minerva quietly, because there really was nothing else to be said, "you shouldn't feel obliged to show me something you do not wish me to see."

"But you misunderstand me," said Severus quickly. "I _want _you to see this. I want to share a select number of memories with you because… because…" He faltered. Something he did not do very often. Minerva thought she could guess his reason.

"Because they are important to you," she whispered. "And you _want_ to share them with someone you trust."

Severus nodded.

"Very well," said Minerva, "tell me what you need me to know."

"What you have to understand," said Severus tensely, looking very white around his hooked nose now, "is that I did not choose to be in this situation. I would like you to know that from the moment I realised what the word 'love' meant, I have dedicated my life and soul to one person – one witch."

Minerva buried her hands in the pockets of her robes to hide their trembling.

"Life and soul," she whispered. Severus nodded.

"I have pined over one woman," he whispered, his gaze directed at the fireplace, "I have spent my life nourishing the thought of having her look at me, speak to me, laugh with me…"

Minerva felt an immense warmth rise inside her, but despite a thousand questions burning on her lips, she was intent on letting him finish. Against all expectations, she began to think that this was really quite a romantic situation.

Severus sighed. "And then she was gone," he said quietly, "and I am left with a Patronus that keeps but a trace of her existence bound to me and this life."

He took out his wand.

"_Expecto Patronum_," he said almost inaudibly, producing a small cloud of silvery mist from which, quietly and with an elegant stretch, the same cat that had accompanied Minerva out of the depth of Severus's mind stole into existence. It looked at the young man expectantly, circled Minerva's leg in one smooth glide and rubbed its cheek against her possessively, just as a real cat might have. Both, the deputy headmistress and her best friend followed the creature's every movement, each lost for words for very personal reasons.

Minerva's thoughts were spinning. She was unable to understand what the younger man was trying to tell her, unable to make the link between Severus's story and his Patronus. On the other hand, she could not help thinking that the outcome of his spell seemed to suggest something she had, in the back of her mind, sometimes imagined – never hoped for, of course.

In contrast, Severus looked as though he had just seen a ghost, possibly not having expected being able to produce a corporeal Patronus after so many weeks of attempting to levitate feathers, or perhaps for other reasons known only to himself. When the long moment of silence was over and Minerva had just decided to simply take the situation for what it was, not wanting to get lost in too many considerations, Severus let his wand sink to the table surface and closed his mouth again.

"Oh," he said faintly. "Well, that… changes matters, of course."


	35. Minerva and Severus

**Minerva and Severus**

That day's early afternoon saw two professors frantically cleaning the East Wing living room, side by side, without words, without eye contact. Both, Severus and Minerva had an infallible system of ignoring the obvious and keeping up pretences at all costs, and therefore, when Morgana found them some time later, everything was absolutely and pointedly as it had been before. A normal and healthy late afternoon's spring cleaning shared by two perfectly reasonable adults, who had no reason whatsoever to discuss perfectly obvious matters. Being teachers, both, Minerva and Severus had developed a number of unfailingly reliable methods of how to deal with unforeseen events. Both were perfectly able to keep their emotions entirely to themselves and, at any given situation, completely under control. There really was no need to fuss.

"Are you two playing hide and seek?"

This was Morgana. Minerva took a deep breath and straightened up, thus moving into Severus's eyesight for the first time in several minutes.

"Just a bit of late spring cleaning, dear. I find it very relaxing from time to time. Severus has been a great help…"

"Anyway," interrupted the younger woman, "I've been wanting to tell you something. Toksey and I, that is."

Behind Morgana, half hidden by one of the room's heavy double doors, Minerva noticed the figure of the blonde nurse lurking awkwardly in the shadows, obviously not quite prepared to show himself in full light yet. She remembered this morning's encounter with a pang of embarrassment, clearing her throat as her daughter pulled the young man into the room. Against her will, she took notice of the fact that he was now shackle-free.

"Mr Toke," she managed, "you are still here, I see."

"Well, that's exactly what we came to talk to you about," said Morgana firmly.

"Think twice about whether you really want to hear this, Minerva," remarked Severus from the back of the room. "We don't want you obliged to press charges against young Toke for child molestation before he has even started a proper career."

Morgana threw him a look of pure venom.

"I am warning you, _Snape_," she said slowly, taking her hands out of the pockets of her robes, "I might want to demonstrate to my new _boyfriend_ here just how little magic is needed to knock you unconscious these days." She turned back to Minerva. "Put the man in his place, will you? He's got hardly more magic than a Muggle."

The young nurse, who had seemed on the verge of protest only seconds ago, stopped in mid-movement, dropping his hands in surprise. "Now, really, Morgana, don't you think that's unnecessary..."

Even Minerva felt compelled to admonish this time, fully aware that Severus could give her daughter a run for her money when it came to impoliteness. The two were like fire and water, but what could you do but try and sort things out as diplomatically as possible? To her mother's surprise, Morgana took all criticism without the usual proclamations of innocence. She seemed to realised that she had crossed a line, although vaguely uncertain as to what the purpose of this line was and whether or not the crossing would have been a good idea in the long run.

"I just wanted to tell you," she continued eventually, breaking the ice once again, "er… officially, so to speak, that Tokesy and I are going steady now." She put a proud arm around the nurse, who turned red again and buried his hands deeply in his pockets, but still seemed considerably more comfortable than he had during their encounter in the morning. Minerva felt that she shared this impression.

"Well, I am glad you are…" she began and stopped, finding her own vocabulary lacking for the situation at hand.

"…starting to form adult relationships," Severus helped. Morgana gave him another death glare.

"Look who's talking, Mr Social Outcast. Mum, can we use the dungeons for a while?" She side-glanced at Severus, clearly hoping to catch a sign of unease. The Snape remained astonishingly calm. Perhaps, Minerva thought hopefully, what with him lacking a Toke-Morgana shackle encounter, _his _mind was linking the word "dungeons" more with the concept of potions rather than the kind of doubtful pre-marital activities Morgana was doubtless going to pursue.

"I shall inform your grandmother that the lower levels will require some heating," she then answered, pretending to get busy with the dusty carpet. "You may want to clear out all possible Viking guests first, though. They do like the closets at the West end of the corridor."

Her daughter grinned. "Oh awesome! I'll see you later then!"

And she dragged Toke outside, who Minerva hoped had a clue of what was going on. She _had_ had The Talk with her daughter about responsibility and, well, marital activities, of course, but it lay back a while and now that she came to think of it Minerva wasn't sure if she had mentioned the necessity of the boy's consent to her pre-pubescent daughter at the time.

"Is there a problem?" asked Severus after a moment's silence, as formal as ever, no displaying any signs of having found the encounter disturbing or even in any way unusual. Minerva sighed and turned.

"I am feeling a little overtaxed with the whole situation, I suppose," she said quietly. "Or rather, the... various situations." And then, suddenly, driven by a sudden impulse, "Severus, shall we take some lunch? I am getting a little hungry."

"Any time," said Severus politely and, continuing without interruption just a few minutes later in the adjacent East Wing kitchen, "You are worried about Morgana, are you not?"

"Naturally," replied Minerva, absently gazing out of the window, "she is my daughter."

"Your concern is always very perceptible," said Severus to effect a compliment. Minerva gave him a weak smile.

"I'll be happy when she is out of puberty, I can tell you."

Severus frowned. "Out of puberty? But Morgana is roughly my age, is she not?"

Minerva gave her friend a smile, thinking that, despite all his expertise concerning pureblood society, he did retain traces of blissful innocence with regard to what growing up pure-blood actually meant.

"Yes, Severus," she therefore said gently, knowing that this was a touchy subject with him, "but pure-blood wizards and witches age differently from Halfbloods and Muggleborns. The more Muggles you have in your ancestry, the quicker you age. You, being a descendant of the Prince family on one side and of a Muggle line on the other… – it is a Muggle line, is it not? Not just a forgotten squib branch?"

"My father could never do any magic," said Severus stiffly. "I know little of his background, though, let alone his distant ancestors."

"Well, your speedy development during your teens suggests a considerable amount of Muggle blood," said Minerva cautiously, "no offence intended. If I remember correctly, you were out of puberty quicker than most of the students in your year."

Severus's lips thinned. "How long does _pure-blood_ puberty take then?"

Minerva scratched her chin thoughtfully. She had thought about this very often, of course, for professional reasons, but it was hard to pinpoint exact ages, since most students these days did have some Muggle blood running through their veins. "It varies greatly. Mine, I think, lasted well into my forties. Although I have to say that Topaz was quicker, and so were most other people in my year. Slytherins usually take a little longer than Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors vary greatly, house-internally."

"I don't remember having being confronted with someone as immature as Morgana when I was in my twenties," Severus mused, not seeming as though he intended to provoke for a change, but sounding quite serious. Minerva crossed her arms.

"Severus, please. You were part of an underground gang who used a skull and a snake as their secret sign of recognition. If that isn't puberty at its highest…"

"You think the Death Eaters were nothing but rampant pureblood adolescents?" Severus cut in. Minerva thought about this for a while.

"Well, it certainly looks like it from a certain perspective," she said slowly. "A large part of the older pureblood population will likely see it that way. And I must say that, from your accounts and Potter's, I got the impression that most Death Eaters who fought in the battle of Hogwarts were, in fact, in their late thirties and early forties, which would make them nothing but irresponsible young adults from the perspective of most of the people who hold wizarding society's highest offices. Let me see, in Muggle terms a Lucius Malfoy would, for instance, be no older than… why, he would be a mere twenty years old, it seems."

"I don't need you translating wizarding age into Muggle terms for me!" Severus snapped. Minerva resolved to be more careful in future.

"I know, Severus," she therefore said, hoping to sound complacent. "And I must apologise. I continue to underestimate your adjustment to pureblood society. – Oh, but do you know what is very interesting? This kind of calculation of a biological age, so to speak, brings the two of us quite close together, age-wise, which does explain a certain overlap of interests…"

She stopped and blushed, realising that she had perhaps allowed herself to speak a little too freely.

Severus did not reply, but stared out of the window, apparently lost in thoughts.

"You seem tired," probed Minerva, if only to not let the conversation freeze.

Severus considered this for a moment. "It is more of a question of sleeping rhythm than actual tiredness," he then said thoughtfully. "I have never slept much, but my days were usually filled with more excitement than they are now. Not that I miss the actual warfare," he added quickly, seeing the puzzled expression on his friend's face. "I am just not this much of an inside person, if you know what I mean."

"I know exactly what you mean," said Minerva quietly, suddenly thinking that she had always rather liked his pale complexion. And there they were again – a nasty bunch of adolescent thoughts, which had began to crop up, one by one, during their discussion of wizarding and Muggle age – and at certain points before that, of course. Foolish, superficial thoughts concerning Severus's looks, his mannerisms, the air of mystery that surrounded him still, his no longer being a Death Eater spy notwithstanding…

The deputy headmistress cleared her throat rather more ostentatiously than necessary and handed her former colleague a bowl of grapes.

"Try these," she said. "They are not particularly fresh, but very sweet and completely magic-free. Mawly got them for us yesterday."

Severus took one grape, delicately, and turned it in his hand.

"Beautiful," he said to Minerva's great surprise. "Although I suspect most people won't see it. Rather odd, don't you think?"

Minerva stared at him in sheer amazement.

"Understandable, perhaps…?"

"Not at all," said Severus absently. His gaze was still directed at the grape in his hand, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. "It is a mark of grave negligence."

"Not noticing a grape's beauty?" Minerva asked slowly, feeling that she was missing a point. Severus looked up.

"Perhaps," he said quietly, as pensive as before. "My mother always said that the true purpose of magic lay in the recognition of real beauty. You know, not the kind of beauty any teenager can see, such as the application of standards of regularity on the human body, but the beauty of coloured mist rising from a magically infested well, of red and green spells shooting through the dark during a fight – the beauty of life that is changed by what we do with our bare hands – and with the help of wands, of course," he added as an afterthought.

"I thought your mother always seemed rather reserved towards magic," said Minerva tensely, willing herself to keep the conversation in safe waters.

"Mother fashioned herself according to her surroundings," Severus replied darkly. "She must have been very invested with magic when she was still at school – a very talented witch, I am told. Then, to avoid certain… debates with my father, she kept her distance. Although she did show me one or two things at the time, just to be prepared, should I develop signs of magic at some time – which I did, of course."

"What then?"

Severus leaned back in his chair and put the grape into his mouth as though sampling it for future use in potions.

"Then nothing," he said after a moment's pause. "She seemed to be under the impression that my magic was threatening the good atmosphere she had previously created, so she flatly banned magic altogether in our house. Not that I didn't have my problems with that – you know what early magic is like."

"I do," said Minerva quietly. "You couldn't have helped it."

"I did learn to contain myself," replied Severus thoughtfully. "My mother was very… thorough in her punishments." He pulled a grimace, which Minerva recognised from his days as a student. "Very educational."

"This explains a lot," said Minerva, driven by a surge of openness, "if I may be so bold as to freely associate. Your mother's refusal to do magic, your father's inability, your using magic and magical status as a means of belonging. You know, I have always wondered why the Sorting Hat didn't put you in Gryffindor at the time, but considering that its job is to do what is best for the student at the time of the Sorting, I am beginning to think it had a point in making you part of the most fiercely loyal of all four houses."

Severus shrugged. "I suppose the Sorting Hat has a tendency to be right."

"Yes," sighed Minerva. "Although I do wish it had put you in my care nevertheless. You could have done without a Death Eater past."

"Believe me," said Severus with an expression as though he had just bitten into a salted lemon, "I am perfectly content to be doing without _a Gryffindor _past. And you are forgetting Pettigrew."

"Ah, yes," said Minerva quietly. "It seems as though I have always done too much of just that."

"He always used to be the first to end up on the floor in fights," Severus reminisced.

"It was his strategy of survival, I believe," said Minerva quietly. "You each had your own ways, of course, although yours in particular were very… inventive, if I may say so."

"It is reading people's behaviour that makes it easy to push their buttons and consequently get in trouble with the authorities for it," Severus explained. "I discovered early, for instance, that instinctive wand-pulling when you are but capable of shooting a few sparks is one of the few disadvantages that comes with having been raised in a pureblood household."

"You do read people well," mumbled Minerva, "now more than ever."

"Speaking of which," Severus said suddenly, straightening up, "I have been meaning to suggest that you talk to your mother again, if possible, even if you think she overstepped a line."

"She _overstepped_ a line?" Minerva said sharply, tensing instinctively at the mentioning of her mother's name, "rather, she bent down, took the line, whipped out a pair of scissors and SNAP! catapulted our relationship right back to where it was fifty years ago – onto the edge of breaking."

"I am sure she had no choice," said Severus quietly. "From her point of view."

"How do you… have you spoken to her since yesterday?" asked Minerva suspiciously.

"Spoken is not the exact word you want to be using," replied the younger man, not quite meeting her eye. "We are talking about accidental traces of returning magic here. Very powerful. Much like a pre-Hogwartian's first signs."

"Which you pride yourself to have had under perfect control," replied Minerva waspishly. "So you legilimenced my mother, did you?"

"I perceived traces of what was going on inside her head," said Severus, looking strained. "Minerva, I am not trying to be intrusive. I am trying to live up to my promise and help you wherever possible. What exactly was happening with your mother this morning, I dare not estimate, but she is convinced that she is doing the right thing for everyone. She thinks that it is absolutely necessary for you to re-marry, for what reason I can only guess at. That is also why she decided to formally reintroduce you to wizarding society, by the way. Did she tell you that?"

"She did _what_?!"

"Ah. So she did not."

"I have not spoken to her since yesterday," Minerva said, her voice suddenly hoarse, "but if this is another of her insane marriage plans, I swear to Merlin I'll pack my belongings and will move out of this house tomorrow."

"Well, as far as I can tell she has not formed any plans... as yet," Severus said slowly. "If I were you, however, I would expect a great amount of possibly unwanted attention from all kinds of unexpected directions these next few days and weeks."

Minerva heaved a sigh. Nothing ever ended. Nothing ever turned for the better. Her mother's unbending efforts, Morgana's wear and tear relationships – and, of course, the question of 'Minerva and Severus', which had been hanging heavily in the air since this morning, but which none of them had been bold enough to address ever since, particularly after the incident involving Severus's Patronus. What was its background? Was it new or old? Did it have anything to do with her or not? Lots of people had cat Patronuses, of course, but she had noticed that Severus's had exactly the size and shape of her own, despite the many options you got with hundreds of potential breeds.

With difficulty, she decided to take a first, tiny step in a direction which seemed completely uncharted territory – as yet.

"Severus," she said slowly and she heard her own voice as though from a great distance. It seemed weird and alien more than anything, "your Patronus…"

The Potions master turned his head, not 'away' as such, but so that eye contact was suddenly made impossible.

"It changed," he said flatly, no emotion in his voice, no recognisable sign of affection. "I was taken by surprise."

"So was I," whispered Minerva. "Severus, I think it… it might, perhaps it would be prudent to talk about certain issues."

"Perhaps," said Severus evasively, and then, still not looking at her, he outstretched a hand across the table, took hers, and pressed it lightly, creating two completely contradictory effects with his facial expression on the one hand and this awkward gesture of what seemed to Minerva like a display of very vulnerable, yet honest affection on the other. All in all, she thought, Severus appeared to be showing her everything that was 'Severus' now. The mask, as well as the man. It was fascinating and touching at the same time.

"We have time," she whispered eventually, not knowing what else to say. "Severus, you can have all the time that you need."

And they sat for another while, quiet and content, until Minerva could no longer postpone her preparations for a return to Hogwarts and the world of teaching.

**~ Aaand sunset.  
**


	36. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Towards the end of the year, letters began to fly in. Sporadically at first, then on a frequent basis. Minerva had not wanted to believe it, but Severus's assumptions turned out to be very true. It seemed that Vesta McGillivray had spoken to quite a few of her friends during one of their many social gatherings and cooked up the ridiculous idea that Minerva might be inclined to attempt a return to society and the goodwill of the pureblood witches and wizards who still defined themselves through marital status, blood purity and wealth alone, despite her and Topaz's being Great Britain's first and only wizarding couple living in divorce.

Minerva's mother organised her friendships and gatherings according to a fixed system of social rank, which Minerva had always found quite unintelligible and which she had given up trying to understand. Vesta McGillivray's friends were a particularly old-fashioned bunch of purebloods, though, sadly, also very familiar with Minerva, mostly through encounters that involved gurgling, cooing, sucking, or, in the best of cases, a horrible tartan dress and two long, black pigtails. Even before the end of autumn term, several of the larger pureblood families began to send Minerva personal invitations for tea and other gatherings, all signed by the respective head of the family. This was, most commonly, a man of roughly 150 years, who tended to comply to his wife's (or mother's) wishes in any situation involving social politics, because that was 'how it was done' in the wizarding world and no one had objected to this system in over two-hundred and fifty years.

The head of the family provided his signature for something he usually had little or no insight in. The social force behind him, however, was clear. You did not mess with so-called "pureblood wives" of Vesta McGillivray's status, although, strictly speaking, there was a hierarchy even among them, of course, with Vesta on top and others below. But none of them would accept a decline of their formal invitations lightly. None of them would, as a rule, be fooled by fake illnesses and other excuses when it came to dinner parties. With a sigh of resignation, Minerva threw her latest invitation to a Longbottom tea party into the rubbish bin next to the door of her office. The door minded its own business, but was rapped frantically when the deputy headmistress had just returned to her desk. So frantically, in fact, that the rubbish bin rattled and tumbled over, sending small pieces of parchment all over the carpeted floor. Minerva sat down with another sigh.

"Enter!"

The man who entered her office now was no taller than the smallest shelf on the window side of the room, next to which he seated himself without waiting for an invitation. He was elderly and balding, with a small, unpleasant smile on his thin face, and lively eyes full of polite curiosity.

"Minerva," he said warmly, having decided on day one that he was going to address all his colleagues by their first names. Minerva sometimes felt she should have put a stop to it at the time.

"What a surprise to see you up here, headmaster," she said stiffly, not wanting to make it too apparent just how unexpected his visit was to her. "And at this time of the day. I thought you might want to write your welcome back speech as you proposed earlier."

"Already finished, my dear, already finished," Belby replied with a small, artificial laugh. "My next concern is of a more serious nature, I'm afraid."

"Are there any problems?" Minerva replied, worried now by his would-be casualness.

"One could say so, my dear, one could say so," said the small man with a nervous twiddling of his fingers. "I have been meaning to talk to you about this for some time now, but the opportunity has not presented itself."

"What is it you have been meaning to say, then?" Minerva asked, straightening up in her chair.

"Well," said Belby slowly, not moving in his seat, "I was thinking about the school and its demands the other day – and about you, Minerva. To be quite frank, I have been thinking about you a lot lately."

"Another one," the middle-aged witch mumbled, but quickly added, "With all due respect, headmaster, I have to say that I do not appreciate people spending too much of their free time thinking about me." With one notable exception, a small voice inside her head said, remaining unheard by Belby and pointedly ignored by Minerva.

"I have been thinking about your family situation," Belby explained. "Your parents… they have been requiring a lot of attention lately, have they not?"

Minerva frowned. "Is this professionally relevant?"

"Very, dear, very," said the headmaster sweetly. "Minerva, if you will allow me to be direct, I fear you are starting to lose your touch. With respect, you are getting on a bit…"

"Are you trying to tell me that I am too old to do my job?" Minerva said slowly, comprehension dawning. The headmaster sighed.

"Don't take this personally, please," he said. "But I really feel someone else… say… Professor Slughorn could provide a lot more time and energy to this highly demanding position than you seem currently able to…"

He broke off when Minerva stood up.

"Highly, demanding, position?" she said sharply, placing both hands on her desk in pointed slow-motion. "I am not sure if I understand you correctly, Professor Belby. Are you insinuating that I may not be equal to the tasks which the position of the deputy headmistress entails? Is that what you are telling me, Professor?"

"Well, it certainly seems to me…"

"…as though I have not completed every single of my duties during the past three months? Is that it, _headmaster_? As though I have not seen to your smooth and speedy integration into the school and its requirements? As though I have not spent the free time available to me with the tasks necessary to cover up your inexperience with the Hogwarts regulations and the school routine? Is that what you are trying to say?"

"Your support has been duly noted, of course," said Belby quickly. "It merely seems to me that you are a little overtaxed…"

"_I _decide when I am overtaxed!" hissed Minerva. "It is _I _who will decide when to cut my duties in order to match my payment again, because, Professor, I have been working overtime ever since I arrived at this establishment over forty years ago. The fact that I am now using some of my contracted free time for private purposes cannot and should not be a reason for you to even think about letting me go! Especially…"

"No one is talking about a dismissal," Belby interrupted. "It is a mere matter of title, Professor. You would still be head of house…"

"I have led my students through thick and thin," Minerva interrupted in turn, glaring down at her superior through her square glasses. "All students, in fact, from all four houses. I have protected this school with my life at various points in time. I have performed the duties of a headmistress at times when Professor Dumbledore was engaged in political matters of great importance, at times when he was discharged from this school for political or other reasons, and at times when the school was under no real leadership because Headmaster Snape was too busy keeping up his disguise as one of You Know Who's most trusted servants. I succeeded in concealing from the Ministry for Magic, until now, Headmaster Belby, the extraordinary amount of time you have been requiring to settle in and get acquainted with Hogwarts school life. This, I achieved, and still achieve, by effectively doing the job of both, the headmaster _and_ the deputy headmistress. If you find fault in the ways the school is run at times when I am concentrating on my duties as the _deputy _headmistress, Professor Belby, that _might be_ because you still, after over three months, cannot run this school without me filling in for you. And no, Professor Slughorn is not going to be able to cover up this inadequacy as efficiently as I have, because he does not, alas, have the necessary years of experience."

Minerva breathed in and out through her nostrils a couple of times, desperately trying to regain some control over her welling anger again. Without noticing, she had performed a speech, which she had started rehearsing in her mind ever since the first complaints had cropped up, ever since her encounter with Filch earlier this year, ever since she had unconsciously realised that the reason she was not even considered a suitable successor to Dumbledore's position was that she, Minerva, was deemed inadequate for the job because a bunch of governors preferred old men with long, white beards in society's highest positions. As in pureblood society, as in real life, Hogwarts was supposed to be run by a capable deputy headmistress, acting under the pretentious cover of a Dumbledore-type headmaster, who could then fulfil a politically representative function, much like pureblood husbands did. Much like even Minerva's own father had for the most part of his life (even though he had rejected the notion).

Without being aware of this, Minerva now realised, she had also given her speech not only to the headmaster alone, but to a group of four or five staff members who had been lurking nearby, heard the sounds from her office, knocked two or three times, and then entered just when Minerva's last sentence reverberated from the office's stone walls and gave way to a stunned silence. The headmaster sat in his chair, slightly dumbfounded, Pomona Sprout and Horace Slughorn looked at each other in amazement, and someone outside shoved the door just an inch more open in order to be able to peer in and participate in the sudden solemnity of the situation.

"I was not aware that you had not spoken to Minerva about this, Damocles," said Horace Slughorn eventually, serving a painfully apparent urge to justify his own position in this dilemma.

"_I _was not aware that this kind of decision can now be made without a consultation of the board of governors," said Pomona Sprout. "Damocles, on whose authority do you think you can just reassign the position of the deputy head?"

"I have governor support in this," said Belby angrily. "Some of them feel that I have not been getting enough back up for the introduction of… new regulations. Suggestions for improvement made by the Minister for Magic himself, as it were."

And suddenly Minerva knew what this was all about.

"The fifth year regulation," she whispered. "That's all this is, is it? It's all about but the reintroduction of compulsory military training for fifteen- and sixteen-year-old wizards and witches? The re-establishment of the old wizarding army?"

"That is Malfoy's basic idea, yes," Belby said. "And a lot of people support him in this, among them the Minister for Magic himself. You should see the kinds of changes that come to pass these days. Our society is united again, Minerva. Stronger and better than it has ever been."

"A strong society doesn't depend on a strong military…" Minerva began, but then broke off. It was useless, they had discussed this before. She had made her point more than clear.

"I think that I shall speak with the Minister for Magic directly," she said in a fit of boldness. Never before, not once, she suddenly realised, had she taken political steps of this magnitude on her very own, without the consultation of a headmaster to back her up. She had never considered herself a very inspiring leader, despite her profession. For a moment, Minerva felt very heroic – as though a new age had begun to dawn with her as its central figure.

Then, on a sudden impulse and with the help of lots of polite swearing, she ushered everyone out of her office. Belby impressed the fact upon her that he would talk to the Minister himself as soon as 'Kingsley' could spare some time, but Minerva ignored him. She realised that she had opened more questions than she had answered tonight. She realised that the battle was won, but the war had only just begun. In full calm, the black-haired witch reflected that in a moment such as this one, there was probably only one person to whom she could talk in this situation – only one person who had the necessary social influence and experience to advise her effectively.

Checking her watch and a calendar she had hung up next to her desk specifically for this kind of purpose, Minerva locked the door of her office and stepped into her fireplace, taking a very special kind of floo powder from the mantelpiece, one that made yellow flames and was designed specifically for the purpose of creating a time-delay in mid-journey in order to allow her to arrive at McGillivray manor the very moment the house was in temporal reach again.

**To be continued...**


	37. And thus the story continues

**Author's Note: **I'd like to use this way to let you all know that the continuation of this fanfic is finally up and running. Direkt links don't usually work on this site, so I'll just post part of the prologue to get you going and let you know the story's title. This is for the benefit of those, who use story watch, not author's alert. I hope there aren't too many of you who'll get a double notification now. The new story is called "The Silver Cat" and will definitely contain a resolution to the love story, which some of you, I think, expected to see here already. I just felt I needed to give our two professors a little more time to get comfortable with their own feelings. ... Mwahaha. Okay, maybe I'm just a sucker for un-Disney-like relationships. Might be the case. But the intention of The Silver Cat is definitely to create some romance. At some point.

That said, I'd like to use this opportunity to thank you all for reading and reviewing and letting me know whether or not you would be interested in a sequel. Your enthusiasm is what kept me going in the writing of this during the past months. I hope you'll enjoy the outcome. Thanks!

~*~

**The Silver Cat**

_**Prologue (Excerpt)  
**_

(...)

"I don't have to tell you, of course," said the lady calmly, as though explaining Arithmancy to a very small child, "that your presence in this house constitutes a huge imposition on myself and my husband. Especially as it now seems as though it will be rather prolonged."

"Rather shorter than expected it seems," Severus threw in, "by about three or four years."

"Well, rejoice," remarked the lady dryly. "That leaves only about six or seven years to go, does it not?"

"I was given to understand that you agreed to this arrangement," observed the Snape, attempting to catch her gaze out of habit.

"And so I did," said the woman. "Mainly on my husband's behalf, who is very intent on satisfying our daughter's wishes wherever he can, I have to say. But I have begun to see a certain benefit in the endurance of a constant liability to my status and reputation under my roof. Pureblood society has its rules, you know, with which you are, of course, more than acquainted, judging from your former circle of acquaintances."

"Lucius Malfoy has been a good friend," replied Severus, very interested in what kind of benefit she could be talking about. "He was able to overlook the, ah, shortcomings of my blood status in exchange for closeness, companionship."

"You want me to believe that Lucius Malfoy would be as foolish as to put his personal desires over political and societal considerations?" For the first time, the lady seemed honestly surprised. "Don't be ridiculous."

"We were young," Severus concluded calmly. "Boys can be foolish."

"Very much so," agreed the lady smugly. "Indeed, it is much more fashionable to have daughters these days, although this is one of the few things my good friend Lady Warrington-Selwyn and I cannot seem to agree upon. Well, but if it is only companionship you have to offer, I am afraid the two of us will not have much to discuss tonight."

"You will find that there a quite a lot of changes in a man between the ages of thirteen and thirty-eight," said Severus calmly.

The lady sneered at one of the torches. Her gaze was directed stubbornly at anything but Severus, who found that this probed his patience more than anything else in this conversation. If she would only look at him once more… perhaps he might attempt to revive some remains of his Legilimency after all? It seemed worth the risk.

"A man," said the lady quietly now. "Hardly. But you must feel that way, of course, having a life expectancy of a mere… what, a century, perhaps?"

"A little more," said Severus curtly, feeling his blood beginning to boil. This was new. And unpractical. "Halfbloods have been known to live up to one hundred and fifty years or more."

"That is astonishing," remarked the lady dryly. "Well, lets hope this counts for you as well. The Princes are one of our oldest lines, of course, and surprisingly pure in blood before you came along, if I may add. You realise that my husband is a practical historian and in the fortunate position to double-check on these matters?"

"Yes…?" said Severus through clenched teeth. "I must say, I don't quite…"

"I don't remember asking for your opinion," cut the lady in, flicking her wand for more tea. Severus felt an unpleasant tingle gush through his body. This commonly happened when someone performed magic spells in his close reach, but the strength depended on the spell caster.

"The Princes are a good line, and it is wasted on your Muggle father, if I may say so," said the lady sharply, finally seeming to freely speak her mind. "I intend to remedy this and I will require your assistance in doing so."

"In what way?"

"I have a proposal to make, Halfblood," replied the lady, her attention directed at nothing but her tea now. "And I advise you to listen carefully. This is a singular opportunity for you to secure your place in our society without resorting to, ah, Death Eater means, now that the times of constant bloodshed are hopefully over."

(...)


End file.
